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em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

Text

Spanish Sahara

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader

Summary: After a rough week at the Thunderbolts Compound, the team goes out for some drinks to wind down and enjoy themselves.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob and other characters from the movie are in here. Fluff, and Smut are the main warnings here, Bob and Reader have an established friendship.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all), Praise/Worship Kink, Breast Play, …Something involving a mirror, Very light choking, Oral Sex (f! And m! receiving), Fingering, Swallowing, Bob is a frickin softie as usual because that’s hot but he definitely has his moments in this, Overstimulation, Teasing, Aftercare to the max because being taken care of after hot sex is…Wheew lol. I don’t think I missed anything

Author’s Note: I saw a lot of people requesting more smut and I thought as a nice little break from the super long fics that I’m working on (that request box has a lot of them and I’m chipping away at it as much as possible!) I’d write a nice little one-shot for y’all to celebrate a random Friday in May 😂 enjoy!! (Side note, I also had a funny little ask about how I name my posts lol, I literally just picture the songs in what I’m writing, the title changes like three times by the time I post it lol)

Word Count: 13,796

The bar was loud, crowded, and hazy with cheap smoke and too many conversations happening at once–but Bob was only paying attention to you, and attempting to look normal in his surroundings, which was always a complicated feat for him.

You sat across from him in the booth, your body framed in golden lamplight and neon beer signs like some half-lit portrait in an art museum. You looked too good to be real–flushed with warmth from your second tequila pineapple of the night, bare-legs crossed just enough to make his brain short-circuit, lips glossed a cherry red like you’d done it just to ruin him.

And maybe, somewhere deep down, he thought you had.

The others were scattered across the bar like background noise–Ava and Yelena flanking the bar with their usual chaotic grace, Walker and Alexei pounding back shots and shouting about God-knows-what, and Bucky leaning over the pool table, unknowingly feeding lines to a group of women who didn’t care if he could shoot or not.

But Bob hadn’t looked away from you in nearly half an hour.

Not when you uncrossed and re-crossed your legs beneath the table, the movements slow and fluid, like you wanted to give him something to look at. Bob’s eyes had followed the motion instinctively–drawn to the soft slide of skin, to the way your thighs shifted beneath the hem of your black tailored shorts. They were high-waisted and fitted, hugging the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips, cinched with a single gold button that glinted every time you moved.

You’d paired them with that wicked bodysuit–the one that clung to your body like second skin, high-cut at the hips and daringly low in the front, just enough to frame the soft curve of your cleavage without giving away too much. It was backless, sleeveless, and made of some silky, matte fabric that shimmered faintly in the bar light. You wore it like armor, like a challenge.

Your legs were bare, golden under the dim glow, crossed at the knee with one foot tucked behind the other–long, lean, and deliberate in how they were presented. Every detail about your look tonight felt curated–not in a fake way, but in the kind of way that said I know exactly what I’m doing to you. And Bob? Poor Bob looked like he was under your spell.

He couldn’t stop looking.

Every time your drink got dangerously low and you leaned forward–elbows resting on the table, cleavage pressing softly together–you dragged the last sip from your straw with a slow, teasing pull that made something in him twist. He watched the way your lips curled around it, how a single droplet of condensation slid down the side of the glass and clung to your fingers. He was transfixed.

You laughed at something the waitress said–he didn’t even register what–and it echoed in his chest like a bell. That sound always got to him.

And tonight, he wasn’t hiding it. Not well, anyway.

His eyes kept drifting–over your mouth, the curve of your collarbone, the smooth stretch of your exposed shoulders, down to the shadowed dip between your breasts. Then he’d catch himself and flick his gaze up like he could undo what he just saw. Like he was trying to remind himself that he respected you too much to stare, even though he’d been staring for months.

He was trying so hard to be polite. His hands were clenched in his lap, fingers tangled and twitching like they were holding back something much stronger than impulse. His posture was rigid, like his own body was betraying him one muscle at a time.

He was always like that around you–reserved, yes. But it wasn’t just shyness. It was respect. Fear. Like every thought he had about you was too big to name out loud. Like if he touched you, he’d never forgive himself for crossing that line.

But he’d already crossed it, hadn’t he? Not physically–but emotionally, because Bob Reynolds had been in love with you for a long, long time.

And you knew it.

You saw it in the way he always noticed when you were tired after a mission, the way he made you tea without asking, or stayed behind in training sessions he wasn’t even involved in just so you’d have someone to spot you. You saw it in the way he flinched when someone else made you laugh, or how his voice went into a cracked whisper only when he said your name.

He was putty in your hands. And you loved it. Not because it gave you power–but because he let you have it. Because he trusted you with it.

And as much as the friendship meant to you–deeply, intimately–you’d stopped lying to yourself months ago. Your brain was always a few steps ahead, mapping the timeline of how you’d get from here–from this bar booth and his helpless eyes–to there. To a place where Bob Reynolds was no longer just your best friend, but something closer. Something that meant yours.

So you didn’t say anything. You just watched him.

Watched how his breath caught every time you shifted. How he wet his lips nervously when you leaned forward. How the pulse in his neck jumped like he could feel your eyes on him.

His fingers twitched again, folded too tight in his lap. You followed the motion, noted the way his knuckles went white.

There was a sheen of sweat on his temple now–barely noticeable unless you were looking for it, which you were.

And poor Bob didn’t even realize how obvious he was.

So you decided to make it worse for him.

You slipped off your shoe under the table and slowly–very slowly–ran your foot up the length of his shin. A gentle drag, barely a touch, but intentional. Controlled. The kind of touch that said I see you. And I want you flustered.

Bob jolted like you’d zapped him with a live wire.

His leg knocked the underside of the table with a hollow thunk, and his hand shot out, sloshing his Coke Zero just short of the edge. His knuckles were white around the glass. His jaw dropped slightly like he meant to say something but forgot what language was.

His cheeks–already pink from the warmth of the room and the low buzz that he was getting from just being around you–flushed deeply, the color spreading up his neck and painting his ears red. You swore even his throat blushed. He pushed his light brown hair out of his face nervously, like he was afraid it would cloud his vision of you.

You tilted your head, smirking. “Cold in here?”

He blinked like he’d just come out of a trance. His lashes fluttered rapidly over wide blue eyes–those eyes, impossibly pale and clear, glassy with surprise and something raw beneath it. Want, maybe. Or fear.

“Y-Yeah,” He stammered, voice cracking slightly. “A–A little drafty.”

“Mmm.” You stretched in your seat, arms rising lazily above your head, making sure the movement pulled the neckline of your bodysuit lower. The fabric shifted with you, stretching softly across your chest, exposing a bit more of the delicate skin he’d been trying so hard not to look at.

His gaze dropped like he didn’t even mean to let it.

And then he swallowed–hard–his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat.

But Bob didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His breathing had gone shallow, his tongue caught against the roof of his mouth like he’d forgotten how to form words. He looked like he was choking on air.

You didn’t let up.

Your foot moved again–slow, deliberate, and this time it brushed higher, just right on the inside of his thigh, where the heat of his body was more noticeable. Where he was trembling.

His breath hitched instantly, and a soft, involuntary sound escaped him–a sharp exhale, half-panic, half-arousal. His fingers dug into the wooden edge of the booth like he was bracing for impact.

You leaned forward again, closing some of the distance between you, letting your arms rest on the table and your chest push together ever so slightly in the low light. He couldn’t look away.

“You’ve been looking at me like that all night, Bob,” You said, your voice velvet-soft, the tone curling up his spine.

His head snapped up like you’d struck him–eyes wide and wild with guilt, pupils dilated in the low light. His brows pinched upward with alarm, his mouth parting in a panicked breath.

“I… I didn’t mean to–” He rushed out, but it came out broken.

You reached across the space between you, wrapping your hand around his wrist before gently cutting him off

“I want you to look.”

He froze.

His whole body went still, like he was afraid to breathe. His eyes–so ocean-bright and boyishly soft–flicked over your face with disbelief, feeling your thumb run over the exposed skin of his wrist.

You smiled at him again, slower this time. Not to tease. But to reassure.

“I like that it’s you,” You said, your voice dipping into something quiet and unshakably sincere.

He blinked, slow and stunned. His lashes cast little shadows under the low-hung light, and you saw the exact moment something cracked in his chest.

“You’re the only one,” You continued, “Who’s never looked at me like I’m a game to win. Or a body to take. You look at me like I’m something you’re afraid to break. Like I’m something you cherish.”

His lips parted again–slightly dry, slightly trembling.

And you saw it. The shimmer in his eyes. That wide, overwhelmed expression he wore when you said something that hit too close to the truth. He looked like he might cry. Or faint. Or bolt. But instead…He stayed.

Frozen, but present.

You reached for your drink again with your free hand and took the last sip, dragging the straw into your mouth with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact.

Bob’s eyes tracked every inch of the motion. You could see the subtle twitch in his jaw, the little hitch in his shoulders, like he was physically holding himself back.

Then you licked a drop from your bottom lip.

And that did him in.

His breath faltered again, and his eyes–so blue, so open, so obviously in love with you–looked at you like he’d forgotten where he was. Like the world had narrowed down to just your lips, your voice, your body framed in shadow and gold light.

You tilted your head, gaze gentle now. That look you always gave him when he was spiraling. When he needed to know he was safe. That he was wanted.

He looked like he didn’t deserve it.

But you knew better.

And finally, after a long, shaky breath–his lashes fluttering like he was about to pass out—he leaned forward.

His voice barely rose above the din of the bar, cracked and breathless and close enough to touch.

“I…I think about y–you.”

The words came out like a confession. Like a sin.

He didn’t stop.

“More than I should,” He said, gaze darting to the table, then back up again like it physically hurt him to hold your eyes. “More than…What’s okay.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t interrupt. You let him say it.

“I just…” His throat worked again. “If I ever got to touch you–I don’t think I’d want to stop.”

Your chest ached at how sincerely he meant it. Like it wasn’t just about sex. Like it was everything, like it meant everything.

Your hand on his wrist slid down so your palm was over his, feeling the warmth of him–the quiet trembling, the softness of his skin.

“Bob,” You said softly. “What would you do if I didn’t want you to stop?”

His lashes fluttered at you–confused, hopeful, scared–but he didn’t pull away, not like he would normally. If anything, he leaned in like you had said something that brought him closer.

Your hand stayed where it was, palm against palm, but your fingers began to move–softly tracing the lines in his hand like you were reading him. Like you were studying a map only you had permission to follow. You let your fingertip trail along the length of his lifeline, then up the curve of his thumb, dipping gently between the web of his fingers. He flinched–barely–but you felt it. Saw the way his breath shuddered quietly through his nose, the way his fingers twitched like they wanted so badly to close around yours but didn’t quite dare.

He was holding himself back.

Even now, even here.

Your gaze lifted, meeting his–they were wide and glossy, pupils blown wide now, eating away at the blue, and there was something deeply aching in the way he looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize every second of this moment in case it vanished.

“Don’t look at me like that,” You murmured, your thumb ghosting over the calloused edge of his ring finger. “Like you’re not allowed to want this.” Bob swallowed hard–again. It was the only thing he could do that didn’t give him away. His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched. His mouth opened like he might say something, but no words came.

He looked at you like you were everything he’d ever prayed for and was terrified to touch.

You watched the war inside him–want versus restraint. It played out in the flicker of his lashes, the shake in his hand, the tension braced through his shoulders like he was trying to keep himself from combusting.

So you let go of his hand, and moved your foot away from his inner thigh.

For a heartbeat, his face dropped–just a flicker of devastation in his expression.

Until you stood up, and moved around the table.

Bob’s head turned like he couldn’t believe you were really coming to him, like some part of him had convinced himself this was all a hallucination brought on by too many Coke Zeros–cause he couldn’t drink–and too many nights thinking about your hands, your mouth, and your voice in his ear. But then you slid into the booth beside him, your thigh pressing flush to his. He was still frozen, spine straight, hands in his lap like they might betray him if he moved them. Your perfume radiated off of you, the one that you always modestly sprayed on yourself, the one that he loved sneaking in your room to smell when you weren’t at the compound or out on a mission–the one that smelled like sugar, berries, and ripe oranges, like a succulent dessert…Made just for him.

You leaned in slowly, brushing your arm against him. You didn’t have to look at him, you didn’t have to…You knew he was already looking at you, or trying to look at you.

When he was finally able to feel your hot breath curl over his cheek he could immediately smell the pineapple juice on your tongue. It made him want to lean in right then and there just to get a taste, just to suck the essence off of it, to drink from you, but he needed to hold himself back, to stay in control of himself before he did something prematurely.

Then–with the grace of an angel–you reached up and touched him.

Your fingers found the side of his jaw, the pads of them smoothing against his freshly shaven cheek, tilting his face gently toward you. He followed the motion like a man possessed–like you had pulled him by a leash tied to his soul. He closed his eyes at the sensation, parting his lips slightly to take in a small breath–a quiet plea.

Slowly, you leaned in, your mouth resting just close enough to graze his ear, and you whispered–low, and sultry:

”Every time I touch myself, I imagine it’s you…” Bob shattered. A noise escaped him–broken and breathless. A half-gasp, half-whimper that he couldn’t contain if he tried. His body went tense beside you, his thigh flexing under yours, his fingers twitching like they were about to snap.

But you didn’t stop there.

“I imagine your fingers,” You murmured, your lips brushing his ear, “Big and clumsy and desperate, the way they always look when you’re nervous. I imagine them moving inside me while I ride your hand, while I beg you to kiss me like you mean it.” Bob exhaled–hard. His jaw clenched under your touch, his breath fogging hot against your forearm. You could feel how close he was to breaking–how close he was to falling apart in front of a whole bar full of people he couldn’t even look at in the eyes. Your fingertips moved slowly across his cheek, your nails didn’t scratch–they ghosted, mapped, and worshipped. You traced the slope of his cheekbone, then slid down to the soft dip beside his mouth, like you were learning his face the way others learn scripture.

Bob was unraveling. Every word from your mouth was gasoline on the fire he’d been trying to smother for months. His breath caught in his chest like a prayer that didn’t know how to end, and he stared at you—lips parted, lashes trembling–like he couldn’t tell if this was heaven or the moment before he burned.

And then your other hand came to rest on his shoulder, grounding him–and pushing him closer to the edge all at once.

He was breathing too hard now. Too fast. His chest rising in shallow, shaking swells. And all he could do was sit there, hands fisted in his lap, as you leaned in and whispered into his ear again–closer this time, like you were whispering to his soul.

“I think about tasting you,” You said softly. “So achingly slow, until you lose your mind.”

Bob’s knees went weak beneath the table. He didn’t even know how he was still upright. The only thing keeping him tethered to the earth was the press of your thigh against his, the weight of your palm on his shoulder and face, and the sound of your voice curling into his bloodstream like silk-wrapped sin.

He tried to speak–tried to gather some string of thought that could resemble language–but all he managed was a broken, desperate breath. “I–” He rasped, his voice shredded at the edges.

But you didn’t let him finish.

You shushed him. Gently. Sweetly. Your thumb swept across his cheek.

“Don’t,” You murmured, so close your lips touched his ear, “Don’t talk. Just feel it.”

And God, he felt it.

Every molecule of you.

The heat of your breath melting against his skin. The sweetness of your perfume, dizzying and intimate. The way your hands touched him like he was more than a body. Like he was a secret. A sacred thing you’d been aching to unwrap.

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to move, to reach for you, but he didn’t dare–not unless you asked for it. He’d give you anything, everything, but he didn’t want to take a single thing you didn’t offer first.

Still, he couldn’t help it–his head tilted toward your touch, his eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted in something so tender it almost hurt to witness. His throat flexed as he swallowed another breath that wouldn’t steady.

You moved even closer–until your mouth nearly brushed his. Until the distance between you was a lie.

“I want to make you lose control,” You whispered. “I want to feel how much you’ve been holding back.”

That did it.

Bob’s whole body trembled under your hands–his restraint hanging by a thread, his jaw clenched like he was trying not to whimper. He turned his head slowly, just enough to look at you, and his eyes–those soft, wrecked, worshipful eyes–were completely undone.

“Y-You don’t know what you’re d-doing to me,” He breathed, but you smiled, soft and knowing.

“Then maybe we should go back to the compound so you could show me.” You whispered back, your thumb stroking the corner of his mouth like you’d been dying to touch him there. Bob’s breath hitched.

The corner of his mouth twitched beneath your thumb like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to shape it into a sentence. His brow knit–tight, anxious–as if he were on the edge of a precipice and could already feel the wind pulling at his shirt.

“I…” His voice cracked. He turned his head slightly, his cheek brushing your palm, but his eyes–those trembling, desperate eyes–held yours like you were the only thing anchoring him to the floor. “I don’t… know w-what happens if I lose control…I h-haven’t had s-sex since before the S-Sentry serum…”

Your chest softened at the vulnerability in his tone–raw, boyish, torn straight from the deepest part of him.

“I’ve felt it before. The…Shift. T-That moment before it gets too much.” His throat worked hard around the next words. “The Sentry, he–he comes through w-when I feel too much. When I want too much. A-And I want you so badly it terrifies me.”

Your thumb stroked over his jaw again, slow and reverent, like you were trying to soothe the trembling just beneath his skin. He didn’t pull away.

“Bob,” You whispered, voice like velvet heat, “I’m not scared of him.”

His breath caught, but you didn’t stop.

“I don’t care if the Sentry shows up. I don’t care if he tries to carry me off into the sky or crack the moon in half because I kissed you too hard.” You smiled gently, your nose brushing his. “Because it’s still you. All of it. The fear, the ache, the power–none of it changes the fact that it’s your heart underneath. And I want all of it. I want all of you.”

His eyes fluttered shut, lashes wet. His chest heaved like he’d just exhaled something he’d been holding in for years. Like you’d opened a dam inside him and now he couldn’t stop it–he didn’t want to anyways.

“Y-You don’t know w–what that means to me,” He whispered, voice trembling like glass on the verge of breaking. “To not be t-the golden boy in your eyes…To just b-be me.”

You leaned in then–so close he could taste your breath, taste the sweetness of pineapple and something far more sacred.

“You were never a monster,” You said, lips brushing his. “You’re the kindest thing I’ve ever touched.”

And that broke something open in him.

His shoulders sagged forward, like a weight had slid off them, and he pressed his forehead to yours, his hands finally–finally–lifting from his lap to ghost up your sides, hesitant and aching. You felt the way they trembled as they settled on your waist, as if touching you too firmly might shatter the moment.

But you didn’t shatter. You melted. Right into him.

“Take me home,” You whispered, your hand curling around the back of his neck. “And let me be yours.”

Bob let out a shaky breath–half-sob, half-surrender–and nodded.

“O–Okay…”

—————————————

The moment the two of you stepped out of the elevator and the doors slid shut behind you, the weight of what was about to happen descended over you like dusk spilling into a quiet room–slow and golden and thick with gravity. It wrapped around your shoulders, soaked into your skin. Each step down the quiet hallway felt amplified, padded in the hush of possibility. The compound, usually so full of voices and footfalls, now felt sacred. Empty in a way that invited something tender to unfold.

You glanced over at Bob beside you–his hands in his pockets, shoulders stiff beneath his shirt like he didn’t know how to hold his own body anymore. His eyes flicked toward you, then away again. You could see it in the twitch of his fingers, in the slow rise and fall of his breath: he was fighting the urge to run and the urge to fall into you all at once.

“Whose room?” You asked softly, your voice barely more than a breath as you stopped just shy of your doors, which were across from one another.

Bob turned to face you, and for a moment he just looked at you. Really looked. As if the question was too big to answer all at once. But then he shook his head and murmured, without hesitation, “Yours.”

Your brows lifted a fraction, surprised by the immediacy of it.

His voice came again, quieter now, barely able to hold its own weight: “I want to be surrounded by everything that’s you.”

And God, he meant it. You could see it all over his face–that quiet, overwhelmed awe. That whisper of longing woven into his breath. Like being near you wasn’t just about want–it was about safety.

You opened your door with a hush of hinges and warmth poured out–soft and golden like it had been waiting for you both. Bob hesitated on the threshold just for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to step into something so intimate. But you reached back and curled your fingers around his, pulling him through gently, and he followed without a sound.

Your room welcomed him like a heartbeat.

The lights were low, softened to a muted amber by the shade of your bedside lamp, and the shadows cast across the walls were familiar, worn-in. The kind of quiet you could only earn by living in a space long enough to leave parts of yourself tucked into the corners.

There were little signs of you everywhere.

A cardigan draped over the back of your chair, still shaped by your shoulders. A couple mismatched mugs on the windowsill, half-full of dried flowers and pens that had long since run out of ink. A battered paperback with your thumb pressed into the spine, abandoned on the edge of the bed. The faintest scent of that sugary sweet skin-warm perfume. He could taste it in the silence.

And then there was the window.

It stretched across nearly half the far wall, a wide mouth of glass looking out over the city, where the skyline pulsed like a living organism–silver and gold lights blinking in lazy succession, cars reflecting off the windows threading down the streets like blood through veins. Bob walked toward it like he was drawn by gravity itself, like it called to the aching part of him that had spent too long looking at the world from above and never this close.

His reflection caught in the tall mirror near the bed–a fractured echo of himself, backlit by the skyline, a man made of longing and light. If he laid down, he realized, he’d be able to see you both in that mirror. Your bodies. Your faces. The way you might look reaching for each other.

He swallowed hard.

Behind him, you closed the door.

The soft click of it sealing shut sent a shiver down his spine–final and quiet and full of promise. He turned toward you, and that’s when he saw you undoing your leather jacket, slow and unhurried. The matte black of it peeled away from your shoulders like a second skin, and the way you moved–fluid, unfazed, and sure–made the air around him feel charged, like static clinging to cotton.

You stood in front of him now, illuminated by citylight and the low lamplight behind you. The bodysuit clung to your frame, catching the warm glow across your collarbones, your throat, the tender curve of your chest. You shrugged the jacket the rest of the way off, and it hit the floor with the softest thud.

Bob was frozen in place. Watching you like a man watching lightning hit the ocean.

He looked around your room again, slower this time. You saw it in his eyes–how he drank in the soft mess of your sheets, the collection of little rings in a porcelain dish, the stack of notes taped to your wall with scribbled to-dos and song lyrics and scraps of thought. It was chaotic and real and you, and he loved every single thing about it.

You were standing so close now that he could feel the warmth radiating off of your skin. The glow of your room wrapped around the two of you like a whispered secret.

You tilted your head slightly and whispered, “You okay?”

And Bob–whose hands were clenched at his sides, whose chest was rising like a tide he couldn’t hold back–nodded, barely. His voice was a whisper scraped raw:

“I-I don’t think I’ve ever been t-this okay.”

Your smile broke like a sunrise, and you reached up for him, touching his face. Just your fingertips at first, featherlight against the edge of his jaw, your thumb brushing along the corner of his mouth like it was something precious to you. Bob’s breath stilled at the contact, lips parting slightly, his chest fluttering with anticipation. He leaned into your palm like a man starved for warmth, even though he was burning up as he stood in front of you.

You pulled him gently toward you.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t desperate. It was something softer—something built from all the times you’d brushed hands in passing, or caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. It was built from every whispered laugh, every longing silence, every moment the world made you ache for one another without saying a thing.

And now it was here. Finally.

Bob bent to meet you, slow and hesitant, his breath brushing yours like a question. Your noses bumped slightly, awkward and tender, and he let out the smallest nervous laugh—one you swallowed as you tilted your chin and brought your lips to his.

The first kiss was a hum. A hush. A held breath.

His lips were soft, unsure at first, warm and slightly parted like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to kiss you back–until he did. Until he melted into it. You felt the exact moment the tension in his shoulders unraveled, when he stopped hovering on the edge and let himself fall. His arms came around your waist–slowly, carefully–as if he was still afraid to hold too tightly.

But he did hold you.

God, did he hold you.

One hand splayed wide against the small of your back, the other settling higher, thumb grazing the edge of your exposed skin where your bodysuit dipped low. His palm was hot. Too hot. Like he was burning just from touching you, and yet couldn’t bring himself to pull away. The feel of your skin against his fingertips made his knees go weak.

You kissed him deeper.

Not rushed, not rough–just more. More pressure. More presence. You tilted your head and sighed softly into him, and Bob exhaled like you’d opened a door in his chest he didn’t know had been locked. His mouth was gentle but eager, tasting you in little swells, lips moving with hesitant gentleness as if trying to memorize the shape of you. He breathed you in like you were air after drowning.

You pulled back slightly–not apart, just enough to rest your forehead to his. The two of you stood there in that golden hush, breathing each other’s breath. Bob’s chest rose and fell against yours, and you felt it–every tremble. Every ounce of his restraint.

He looked at you with eyes half-lidded and dazed, lips flushed and glistening from your kiss–and from the remnants of your lip glass–the faintest tremor in his breath like he couldn’t quite believe it had happened.

Your voice was soft, just above a whisper. “Still okay?”

He let out a broken laugh–full of wonder, full of you–and nodded.

You leaned in again–gentler this time, slower–not because you were unsure, but because you wanted to savor the way his breath hitched when your lips brushed his. You wanted to draw it out. To feel every shiver he tried and failed to suppress.

Bob met you halfway with a soft, aching sound–something between a sigh and a whisper of your name. His hands flexed slightly at your waist, his fingers pressing just a little deeper into the curve of you. You felt how he trembled. Not because he didn’t want this. But because he wanted it so much he was afraid he might burst.

You kissed him again–deeper, slower this time, mouth parting just enough to taste him. His lips were warm and sweet with nerves, and he kissed like someone who had thought about this a thousand times but never believed it would happen. There was a reverence to it, a hush in the way he moved his mouth against yours, like he was still halfway convinced he might wake up at any moment.

Your hands left his face, drifting down–slow, steady, and full of quiet intention. You traced the slope of his neck, feeling the rapid flutter of his pulse, then down the broad plane of his chest. You felt every breath he took, shallow and aching, beneath the soft cotton of his sweater.

Bob, always layered like he needed something between himself and the world, was wrapped in a slightly oversized charcoal crewneck, its fabric thinned from wear and faintly scented like detergent and something uniquely him. Beneath it, you could feel the ridges of another layer–a t-shirt, soft and well-worn, probably one he slept in or hid in on quiet mornings when the world was too loud.

You slid your hands beneath the hem of the sweater and pushed upward, your palms skimming the warm skin of his stomach as the fabric lifted. Bob made a quiet, broken sound into your kiss–like the feeling of your hands on his skin short-circuited something vital inside him. He froze for a moment, his breath catching like he wasn’t sure he could survive the sensation.

You pulled back just far enough to speak, your lips brushing his. “Can I?”

His nod was immediate. Frantic. “Y-Yeah. God, yeah.”

So you tugged the sweater up slowly, watching the way his arms lifted, watching the exposed inch of his abdomen rise with it–the pale skin dusted with soft little beauty marks, the gentle definition carved by years of holding tension. As the fabric cleared his chest, he flinched slightly, sucking in a breath like cold air had touched him, though your hands were warm.

He helped you the rest of the way, dragging the sweater and t-shirt off over his head with trembling fingers, slipping away like the last layer of armor. And then he was bare from the waist up, bathed in citylight and lamplight, all golden and blushing and unsure.

He stood there, chest bare and breathless, as if you’d peeled back the sky and found the sun trembling underneath.

Bob’s body wasn’t sculpted in the way of soldiers or statues. It was something softer, something more human. But there was strength in it, undeniable–earned. It was the kind of build that came from holding onto things that were out of his control. Broad shoulders that carried guilt and gentleness in equal measure. A solid chest dusted with faint hair and the occasional mark of time–tiny clusters of faded scars, blemishes, and bruises the world had forgotten but his skin remembered.

His collarbones were sharp under the golden lamplight, framed by muscle that swelled and dipped like lines in a poem you wanted to memorize. His arms, strong and thick, looked like they were made to hold someone through the storm–and right now, they twitched faintly at his sides like he didn’t know how to be held himself. There were scattered freckles on his biceps, a pale crescent scar on one rib that curved like the moon, and small, raised knots near the shoulder from training or trauma–you weren’t sure which. Maybe both.

He looked like a map of ache and effort and quiet resilience.

And you adored every inch of him.

You stepped forward slowly and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest–just over his sternum. His breath stuttered at the contact, sharp and startled, like he’d never been kissed there before. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe no one had thought to.

You trailed your fingers down the plane of his stomach, the muscle there tense and trembling, then lower–toward the waistband of his pants. They were a pair of charcoal slacks, slightly loose around his waist, cinched just right at the hips, but soft and comfortable like he’d chosen them to blend in. Like he’d never expected to be undressed in them.

Your fingers hovered over the button, and you looked up at him. Bob nodded once–barely, but enough–and you slipped the button free. His breath hitched, and his hands flexed at his sides again like he didn’t know what to do with them.

You dragged the zipper down slowly, deliberately, your eyes never leaving his. He looked dazed–like he was being unwrapped for the very first time, and the air itself might sear him.

The fabric fell down his thighs with a soft whisper, pooling at his feet, before he moved out of them, kicking his shoes off in the process.

Bob stood in front of you in nothing but his black boxer-briefs, backlit by the shimmer of the skyline and the amber hum of your bedroom lamp. His chest rose and fell like the sea—steady, but stirred by undercurrent. His eyes hadn’t left you since you touched him. Not once.

And now, it was his turn.

He lifted his hands slowly, reverently, like he was reaching out to something holy. His palms hovered over your hips, not quite touching, until you gave him the smallest nod. That was all he needed.

His fingertips brushed the waistband of your shorts, undoing the golden button in the front of them.

You kicked off your shoes, one at a time, and let the silence stretch between you as he hooked his fingers through the belt loops–slow, hesitant, like he was afraid of doing too much too quickly. He eased them down your legs inch by inch, watching the fabric surrender to gravity. You stepped out of them delicately, and for a beat, he just stood there, looking at you like he didn’t know how to survive the sight of you standing in nothing but that black bodysuit and a pair of simple underwear.

He swallowed hard.

His hands returned to your sides, smoothing over the dip of your waist where the fabric clung tight. You watched his throat flex as his eyes flicked over you—your curves, your bare legs, the way your body caught the light like it had been painted for his gaze alone.

When he moved to the clasp of your bodysuit, his fingers trembled. You could feel it. The concentration in him. The hesitation. Like he was unhooking something precious, something secret.

You reached up and touched his jaw gently. “It’s okay,” You whispered.

And Bob, poor, wrecked Bob, nodded like he needed your permission to breathe.

The clasp gave with a soft snap. The bodysuit loosened instantly, slackening at your shoulders. His eyes met yours again, searching, silent, and then he helped ease the fabric down your arms, over your chest–slowly, like he was undressing a memory he wanted to savor for the rest of his life.

You stood there, bare from the waist up.

Bathed in citylight and lamplight. Breasts soft and exposed, skin flushed and dappled in gold. Your breath was steady, open, trusting.

And Bob… Bob stared like he’d never seen anything so sacred. His lips parted. His chest rose, shallow and quiet, as his eyes drifted over every inch of you—your collarbones, the curve of your sternum, the soft line of your stomach. His hands didn’t touch right away. He just looked. Like the act of looking was too intimate already.

But when he did touch you–finally, gently–his hands moved with such aching care. They rose to cradle your waist, thumbs brushing just below your ribs. You watched his pupils expand, the breath he tried to hold leaking out of him in slow, reverent exhales.

“You’re…” His voice cracked. He didn’t finish the sentence.

Because he didn’t have to.

You stepped into him again, bringing your bodies closer, the warmth of his skin against yours. Your breasts brushed his chest and he nearly gasped, his head dipping low, lips brushing your shoulder like he needed a place to put all this overwhelming wonder.

Bob’s lips were trembling against your skin before you even realized he’d moved. Gentle, searching–he kissed the place where your shoulder curved into your neck, just beneath your collarbone. His mouth was warm and wet, like each kiss was a vow he didn’t know how to speak aloud. He moved slowly, dragging his lips along your skin like he was painting devotion in brushstrokes–across the dip of your clavicle, up the slope of your throat, back to your jaw.

You let out the softest sigh. A sound full of breath and want. It made him shudder.

Your hand slid into his hair, curling at the nape of his neck, guiding him until his lips found yours again. This time the kiss felt hungrier–not in haste, but in depth. In need. Like the space between you could never be close enough. He kissed you with a kind of desperation laced in awe, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. And maybe you felt the same way, because your heart was stammering against your ribs, and the heat blooming between your thighs was dizzying.

You pulled back slowly, just enough to look into his eyes–flushed and wide and soft around the edges, pupils blown so far they nearly swallowed the blue whole.

“Come here,” You whispered, voice like silk unraveling in candlelight.

You took his hand and led him gently around the side of your bed, the sheets still rumpled from a day that no longer mattered. The mirror caught both of your reflections in passing–your bare back, his bare chest, the golden curve of lamplight gilding the two of you like you were something from a dream neither of you dared name.

“Lay down,” You said, and Bob obeyed without a word. He eased himself back across the mattress, exhaling like the air had been caught in his lungs for hours. The sheets crinkled beneath him, warm with your scent, his chest rising in uneven waves as he stared up at the ceiling like it held some sort of answer for how to survive this moment without coming apart entirely.

You climbed onto the mattress after him—slow, certain, fluid like breath moving into lungs. Bob turned his head just in time to see you crawl toward him, and God, the look on his face—pure wonder, trembling with reverence—made your heartbeat skip off rhythm.

You straddled him gently, knees bracketing his hips, your hands finding their way to his chest again, palms splayed flat over the warmth of him. You felt the stutter of his breath beneath your touch, the tight coil of tension building under your thighs.

He looked up at you like you were everything.

You bent down and kissed him again—deeper this time. Your lips claimed him slow and full, your mouth parting just enough to taste his sigh as it melted into yours. One of his hands slid up your thigh, barely daring to grip, while the other cupped your hip like he was anchoring himself.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard and hot, nestled beneath you. The growing swell of him pressed against the soaked fabric of your underwear, separated from your heat only by the thin stretch of your panties and his boxers. He groaned softly into your mouth, the sound involuntary, and it made your whole body pulse with want.

You rolled your hips forward–just once, a slow grind–and Bob gasped. His head tipped back, throat arched, lips parted as his eyes fluttered shut. His fingers tightened on your waist as if bracing against the force of it.

You did it again–deliberately, letting your clothed center slide against the length of him. The friction was hot, barely enough, almost unbearable in its precision. You could feel the tremor in his thighs, the desperate way his breath stammered in his chest.

“O-Oh m-my,” He whispered, almost like a prayer. “You’re…Oh God–”

You smiled softly against his cheek, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “You feel that?”

He nodded, barely, eyes dazed.

“I’m soaked,” You whispered, dragging your hips once more, pressing down just enough to make him bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut, “And it’s all for you…” You kissed the line of his jaw And then you started to move down.

His hands twitched when you kissed his throat—soft, slow, trailing heat with your mouth as you shifted backward, kissing lower, following the pulse at his neck to the center of his chest. You paused there, pressed your lips to the spot where his heart beat fastest.

He stared down at you, dazed and helpless and holy.

You kept going.

Kissed his sternum. The soft dip beneath it. The slight rise of his stomach where the muscles tightened beneath your breath. Your mouth was tender, open, slow as silk. You licked a soft line down his abdomen and felt him shiver violently. His hands moved into your hair without thinking, not pulling–just holding.

Just needing something to hold.

You reached the waistband of his boxer-briefs, and looked up.

His lips were parted, his cheeks pink with heat, his pupils huge and swallowing. He nodded without needing to be asked, lifting his hips slightly as you hooked your fingers into the band and drew it down—inch by inch, like you were unwrapping a gift meant only for you.

Bob was flushed, hard, and trembling. His cock stood against the plane of his stomach, thick and aching and already leaking from the tip. You watched the way it twitched when the cool air touched it, watched how he tried to stifle a gasp and failed.

“O-Oh god,” He breathed, like it physically hurt. “I don’t–I don’t even k-know what to do with myself–”

“You don’t have to do anything,” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the sharp line of his hip. “Just let me take care of you.” His breath hitched–shallow and wild–and his hands gripped the sheets.

And then you bent your head.

And licked a slow, deliberate stripe up the length of him–base to tip.

Bob choked on a gasp, hips jolting before he stilled himself with sheer force of will. His hands flew to his forehead like he was trying to cover his eyes, but he couldn’t stop watching.

You flattened your tongue along the underside of him again slowly feeling the way he twitched under your touch, the way his breath hitched like it was caught in the delicate space between need and disbelief.

His hand found yours blindly–grasping, desperate for something to hold on to. You laced your fingers with his without hesitation, anchoring him as you opened your mouth and took him in.

The weight of him on your tongue was dizzying, intoxicating. He was warm and already leaking, the taste of him faintly salty as your lips sealed around him and began to move–slow, deliberate strokes of your mouth, your hand curled around the base of him in rhythm.

“Y-you’re…” His voice broke, breath catching, almost like a sob. “You’re really… Oh…”

The sound he made when you took him deeper went straight to your core. It was soft, wrecked–an overwhelmed whimper that made your thighs clench and heat spill low in your belly. You moaned around him, low and throaty, and he gasped your name like it physically stunned him.

You glanced up through your lashes and saw him–his head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in disbelief. His free hand was fisted in the sheets now, his chest rising and falling in frantic waves.

You hollowed your cheeks and twisted your wrist just slightly, dragging your mouth back and then sliding down again, slower this time. You could feel every tremor in his thighs, the way his hips flexed involuntarily and then stilled, fighting the instinct to thrust. He was trying so hard to be good for you. To be still. To savor.

You let your hand drift lower, stroking him in time with your mouth, the slick sounds of your lips meeting his flushed skin only driving you further into the heat building between your own legs. You could feel how wet you were through your panties—soaked from the way he whispered your name, from the way he whimpered when you gave him just a little more.

“Oh,” Bob whispered again, breathless. “You feel so good. I don’t… I didn’t... I…” You moaned softly again, taking him deeper, loving the way his voice cracked, the way his fingers squeezed yours like he was hanging on by a thread.

And you didn’t stop.

You licked and sucked and worshipped him, letting the tension build, letting him teeter right there on the edge. His legs were shaking now. His hips stuttered once, and then again.

“I—I think I’m gonna…” He gasped. “I don’t know if I can…P-Please don’t stop—please—please—”

You didn’t.

You kept going. Swirling your tongue around the tip, easing him deeper again, moaning softly just to feel the way it made his whole body jolt.

He came with a sound like he was breaking—high and soft and breathless. A shattered gasp of your name, followed by a long, trembling whine as he spilled into your mouth.

You swallowed it all. Every last drop.

And even then–you didn’t stop.

You licked him gently, slowly, carefully–savoring him through the aftershocks. His body twitched beneath you, overstimulated and undone, his voice going quiet and airy.

“I-it’s too much,” He breathed, eyes wide and wet with disbelief. “Oh God—it’s so much…”

You finally pulled back, lips glistening, your breath ragged. You kissed the inside of his thigh tenderly, then wiped the corner of your mouth with your fingers and gave him the softest smile.

Bob looked at you like you’d just handed him a piece of the universe he never thought he deserved.

You crawled back up the bed and laid beside him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder, letting your hand fall to the center of his chest. His heart was pounding beneath your palm, like it had forgotten how to slow down.

He turned to face you.

And then he kissed you–without thinking, without pause.

His mouth was hungry, lips moving against yours like he wanted to pour his gratitude and longing into every stroke of your tongue. You let out a soft hum into the kiss, and his hand found your waist, curling around you like he needed you against him. All of you. Bob kissed you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

His hand tightened at your waist as he deepened the kiss, his mouth warm and earnest, his tongue slow against yours—like he was trying to memorize the taste of your breath and the taste of himself on your tongue. Then he shifted his weight just slightly, moving over you, and your body followed without hesitation.

He rolled smoothly, gently, so that your back met the mattress and his body hovered above yours. His thigh slid between yours, his chest flush to your own, and his face hovered just inches from yours–eyes wide and wild with something more than lust. Something closer to awe.

You let out a surprised giggle, breathless beneath him, one hand slipping up to brush back the messy strands of his light brown hair. It stuck up in every direction from your earlier touch, and now it framed his flushed face like a halo that couldn’t decide if it belonged to a saint or a sinner.

He gave a small, dazed laugh too, his lips curving in wonder as he looked down at you.

And then he murmured, soft as velvet:

“It’s your turn.”

His voice sent a shiver straight through you–because it wasn’t just desire in his tone. It was reverence. Like this was sacred. Like you were sacred.

He dipped his head and kissed your throat, slow and sweet, and you tilted your head to give him more. His hand slid up your side, warm and sure, until it cupped your breast. He paused there, looking at you–asking, even now. Even after everything.

You nodded, breath caught somewhere between your ribs.

And Bob leaned down to worship.

His mouth wrapped around the swell of your breast, lips so soft, tongue teasing the peak until it pulled a soft sound from the back of your throat. He groaned at the noise, like it physically did something to him. He kissed across your chest–open, adoring–then sucked gently at the other nipple, swirling his tongue in slow circles until your fingers curled in his hair. You felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin just around your nipple–just enough to make your breath hitch and your hips twitch slightly beneath him.

You gasped, soft and surprised, and his mouth pulled back with a small, wicked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His breath was warm against your damp skin, and then he exhaled slowly–cool air brushing across the nipple he’d just teased, and your whole body shivered in response.

Bob chuckled under his breath–low and breathless. Not cocky. Amazed. Like your reactions lit up something inside him he never even knew he needed.

Then he kept going.

His lips traced a winding path down your body–each kiss like a benediction pressed into skin. The slope of your ribs. The softness of your belly. The place just beneath your navel where you felt everything coil tight with anticipation.

You shifted slightly, drawing your knees up, thighs falling open to make space for him as he reached the waistband of your underwear. The fabric was soaked with you–already clinging, already begging to be removed. Bob looked up once, eyes wide and full of silent question, fingers brushing your hips.

You nodded. Your breath was caught somewhere behind your teeth, but your legs were already parting further, your spine already arching to help him slide them down.

He pulled the underwear off slowly, taking his time with you, watching the way the fabric peeled away from your slick heat. Your body practically glistened in the amber light, folds swollen and flushed with need. He swallowed thickly, the sound audible even in the hush of your room, and let the underwear fall to the floor like a silk offering.

Bob settled between your thighs like he’d found the center of the universe.

His hands slid up the insides of your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin as he leaned forward, mouth trailing open kisses along the tender flesh–first one thigh, then the other. You twitched at the contact, gasping as his lips dragged up the curve of your leg, warm and wet and wanting. He paused just at the crease where thigh met hip, and then–without warning–bit gently, sucking until the skin flushed pink and bloomed with a bruise.

Bob smiled into your skin. “S–Sorry,” He murmured, clearly not sorry at all, his voice thick with breath and worship. “N–Needed to leave s-something to remember me b-by.”

And then–finally–he kissed your core.

His tongue swiped through your folds in one long, slow motion, and your whole body jolted like he’d reached inside your chest and rung out your soul. You felt the flat press of his tongue against your clit, the deliberate drag upward, the way his lips wrapped around you and sucked–soft, rhythmic, maddening.

Your back arched off the bed.

Your hand flew down and found his wrist–one of the hands bracing you open–and you held onto it like a lifeline, anchoring yourself to the feeling. His other hand splayed across your stomach, warm and grounding, fingers spread wide over trembling muscles.

He licked you again–deeper now. More intentional. His tongue moved like he was mapping you, learning every reaction, every twitch, every soft cry like it was sacred text. He flicked the tip of his tongue in slow, focused circles, then flattened it again, pressure building just right, just there–

“Fuck—Bob,” ¥ou breathed, voice high and frayed. “Jesus Christ…”

He moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your body and sending another jolt through your spine.

And then you tilted your head back.

The mirror caught everything.

Your body sprawled across the bed–glowing, undone, your knees spread wide and your hair wild pointing every which way. Bob’s shoulders bracketed your thighs, his face buried between them, dark hair mussed and damp with sweat and your slick. You saw the way your stomach rose and fell beneath his hand, how your hips bucked slightly with each flick of his tongue.

And then–God–

You looked down at him.

And he was looking up at you.

Eyes glassy and wide, pupils blown with hunger. His mouth was still moving, still lapping at you with slow swirls–but his gaze stayed locked on yours like it anchored him. His brow was pinched in concentration, his cheeks flushed, his lips glistening.

It was intimate in a way that felt deeper than skin. Like he was beholding you, not just touching you. Like the act of pleasuring you was its own kind of worship–and he couldn’t look away from the way your body bloomed beneath him.

You whimpered, your hand tightening around his wrist.

He groaned softly, and the sound reverberated through you.

And then–without breaking eye contact–he slid two thick fingers inside you.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp, spine arching. The stretch was slow, sweet, perfect. He curled them just right, finding that place inside you that made your breath stutter and your thighs twitch.

“Y-Yeah,” he rasped against your core, voice hoarse, lips brushing your clit between licks. “There. T-That’s it, I–I feel you…”

You clenched around them while his tongue kept moving—never stopping. His fingers pumped slow and deep, curling with every pass, and your legs started to shake.

The sight in the mirror was unholy–your head thrown back, his mouth buried between your legs, fingers working you open while your body writhed beneath him.

“Bob—Bob I’m gonna—”

“I–I know,” He whispered. “I’ve got you..Y-Y/N.”

With a sharp cry and a desperate buck of your hips, you came–shattering like glass under floodlight. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, your thighs trembling against his shoulders, your hand crushing his wrist as you pulsed around him.

Bob didn’t stop until you whined, breathless and broken, hips twitching from oversensitivity. Even then, he pulled back slowly, mouth flushed, chin slick with you. He pressed one last kiss to your thigh, and looked up at you again.

Completely wrecked.

Completely in awe.

You let out a laugh of disbelief–shaky, breathless, still caught in the afterglow of everything Bob had just pulled from you. Your body was humming, twitching with sensitivity, your thighs trembling around nothing now as he lifted his head from between them.

Bob looked like he had just witnessed a modern day miracle, a sheepish grin plastered on his face.

Then he started to move slowly, crawling back up your body on his elbows, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses into your skin as he went. The curve of your hip. Your stomach, still fluttering beneath the aftershocks of your orgasm. Each kiss was a brushstroke of heat and devotion, like he wanted to taste every inch of what he’d done to you.

When he reached your chest, he paused, nuzzled into the soft swell of your breast and pressed the gentlest kiss there too. Then higher–your collarbone, your throat, the corner of your jaw. You turned your head slightly and met him as his mouth finally reached yours again.

The kiss was warm, a little messy, but full of affection. Your taste was still on his lips, and he didn’t hide it–he kissed you like he wanted you to know he’d savor every drop.

“Y-You’re unreal,” He mumbled against your cheek. And then he gave a shy, breathless laugh. “I think I–I forgot how to breathe.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through the soft mess of his hair, and he leaned into the touch like it grounded him.

“I’m already ready again,” He admitted sheepishly, pressing his forehead to yours. You felt it him hard and warm again between your thighs, flush against your soaked center. Your breath hitched.

But then Bob hesitated. You felt it in the shift of his weight, the tremor in his next breath.

“We could leave it at that for tonight,” He said softly. His voice was a whisper of restraint, even though his hips twitched against yours like his body was begging him not to stop. “If you don’t want to have sex—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You kissed him–deep and sure and full of heat.

When you pulled back, your voice was firm and breathless. “I want you.”

Bob’s eyes widened slightly, lips still parted in surprise. “S-Should I run and grab a condom?” You tilted your left arm back slightly, resting it behind your head on the mattress, and with your free hand, pointed to the small, barely visible scar just beneath the skin of your inner arm.

“Implant,” You said softly. “We’re good.” His breath caught audibly and his hand hovered near your arm for a second, then settled gently over it–thumb brushing once over your skin.

“Y-You’re sure?” He asked, voice low and rough, like he couldn’t bear to assume. Like he was terrified of doing the wrong thing when he finally had the chance to do this right. You nodded, soft but certain, caressing his cheek gently.

”I’m sure.” Bob exhaled like it physically knocked the air from his lungs. Then he kissed you again–and this time, it was different.

There was no hesitation. No soft buildup. Just need and wonder colliding all at once.

His mouth crushed against yours, urgent and hungry, and you met him just as fiercely. Tongues brushed and tangled in wet, open kisses, teeth grazing lips, breath caught between mouths like smoke. You could feel the way he breathed you in between every kiss–little shaky exhales pressed into your cheeks, your jaw, your mouth–as if you were the air keeping him alive.

“God, y-you taste like heaven,” He murmured hoarsely into your mouth, and then kissed you again, harder.

You moaned against his lips, your body arching into his, and he groaned right back–his hand sliding from your hip to the side of your neck, fingers splayed out over your pulse point like he needed to feel the rhythm of you.

The head of his cock brushed against your slick entrance–hot and heavy and trembling with anticipation–and he froze just a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were blown wide, lips flushed, chest rising and falling like a wave cresting.

He lined himself up with a breathless stammer of your name, “J-Just tell me i-if I do anything wrong okay?” You nodded–soft, breathless, legs flinching around him slightly as he started to push in–inch by inch. Your mouth dropped open around a gasp.

”Oh–“ You breathed, hips twitching up towards him, “Bob…” He bit his bottom lip hard, trying to hold it together, closing his eyes at the sensation of you slowly taking him in.

“You’re s-so warm,” He choked out, “I can feel all of you, I–”

And then he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, both of you trembling.

You were wrapped around him, stretched and full and gasping through the intensity of it, and Bob just hovered there, buried deep, his forehead resting against yours like he needed the anchor. You cupped his cheek, kissed him once–soft, shaky–and whispered,

“I need you to move…” He nodded at your request, dragging his hips back only to press in again with a quiet groan that vibrated against your chest. His thrusts weren’t rough—but they had weight. Depth. Like he couldn’t help but want to be as far inside you as he could get.

Each time he rocked forward, your bodies met with a soft, slick sound, heat rising like steam between your tangled limbs. He kissed you through it, messy and desperate, lips parting and pressing and dragging over yours like he never wanted to come up for air. You kissed him just as hard–your tongue sliding against his, teeth nipping his bottom lip, your hands gripping his shoulders like you didn’t want him to go anywhere.

Your fingers tangled into the back of his hair, tugging gently–not to pull him closer, but to hold. To ground. The strands were damp with sweat and heat, and he gasped into your mouth when you did it, his hips stuttering in response.

Bob groaned low and soft, the sound caught between reverence and ache. Then his hand slid up, warm and sure, and cupped the side of your throat—not tight, just enough to feel the flutter of your pulse beneath his palm. His thumb tilted your chin up, guiding your gaze back to him.

“L-Look at me,” He breathed, voice ragged with want. “I…I need to see you.”

You did. Eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed and heated. You were so open for him, so undone and radiant in the lamplight–and it broke something in him, seeing you like this, needing him like this.

Then he hooked his arms under your knees and lifted.

The change in angle dragged a gasp from your throat so sharp it bordered on a cry. He slid deeper—so deep it felt like he was in your chest, like he was part of the ache and the breath and the heartbeat of you. Your mouth dropped open around a broken moan, and your eyes went glassy.

“F-Fuck,” You choked, your head falling back. “Bob–oh my God–”

Bob whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the sound of his name on your lips, by the clench of your body around him. His breath was hot and frantic, his face flushed and slack with awe.

“You feel…” He started, then trailed off, swallowing hard. “You feel s-so good–so warm–you’re perfect, I–” He kissed your cheek once. Then again. Then again, softer each time, like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t know how else to worship you.

And then, he saw it.

The mirror.

The two of you–tangled together, sweat-slicked and flushed with heat, your body curled around him like it was built to fit. His eyes snapped to it–and for a moment, he just stared. Breathless. Dazed. He could see the way your hands gripped his shoulders, the way your breasts bounced softly with each deep thrust. The sight of it–the raw, real closeness–wrecked him.

Your gaze flicked over his and followed where he was looking and you caught the reflection too.

“I want to watch us,” You whispered, breath ragged and full of heat. “Please.”

Bob’s breath caught hard. His hips stilled, his eyes wide, his mouth parting with something like awe and disbelief.

“Y-Yeah?” he stammered.

You nodded.

That was all it took.

He pulled out slowly–deliberately, as if the act of leaving your body was a loss he needed to mourn–and helped guide you onto your stomach, careful even through the haze of want. You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes fixed on your reflection, hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten.

He moved behind you, one knee between yours, and dragged his hand down the length of your spine in one long, aching stroke, watching goosebumps rise on your flesh before peppering a few kisses along the bare skin of your back. Then he gripped your hips and lined himself up again.

The first thrust back in was brutal in its beauty.

You let out a ragged groan–half gasp, half cry–as he sank back into you. The angle was different now. Deeper. Fuller. It felt like he was rooted inside you, like he could reach the very center of you.

Bob’s groan was wrecked.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “You’re so…This is��Y-You’re tight–so deep, I—”

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, and you felt the press of his mouth against the side of your neck–just beneath your ear. Then his arm slid around your neck from behind, not choking, not tight—just holding. Anchoring. His breath spilled hot across your skin, and he kissed your jaw again, reverently, trembling against you.

Your eyes locked in the mirror.

You. Spread out. Eyes heavy, mouth open, skin flushed and glowing. Bob–bare and trembling behind you, lips parted, face slack with wonder, arm curled protectively around you like he was trying to keep you from slipping away.

The reflection made your breath catch.

He looked just as wrecked as you felt.

“I’ve n-never…” He choked out, hips still rolling slow and deep, “Never seen anything so beautiful—so fuckin’ real–“ Your breath stuttered, your chest dragging in air like your lungs were trying to keep up with the sheer intimacy of his voice in your ear, his body inside you, the way his eyes stayed locked to yours in the mirror.

And then you turned your head.

Just a little.

Enough to find his lips.

Your mouths met in a kiss that shattered the edges of everything soft and safe. It wasn’t delicate this time. It was molten. You sucked gently on his tongue when he pushed into your mouth, and the noise Bob made was nearly inhuman–a muffled, desperate moan swallowed by your kiss.

The arm around your neck tightened just slightly, his palm flattening against your shoulder to hold you a little closer. He kissed you like he needed your breath to survive, and with every stroke of his tongue against yours, he thrust a little deeper, a little harder, losing the last shred of distance between you.

The sounds filled the room now.

Slippery, wet, rhythmic. The soft slap of skin meeting skin. Your gasps–broken, high, open. His moans–low, breathy, whispered things like “fuck” and “please” and your name like it was a prayer he’d never been brave enough to say out loud until now. The creak of the mattress. The rustle of the sheets. The hum of the city just outside the window, as if the whole world had gone quiet to listen.

His hips were moving faster now, not pounding but full of momentum. Urgency laced with awe. You felt every inch of him with every push, your body keening beneath him, his cock dragging against that tender spot inside you again and again.

And still–his mouth kept finding yours.

Messy kisses. Tongue and teeth and hot breath shared like something sacred. You whimpered into him, and he swallowed it, moaning in return, his pace growing more erratic with each roll of his hips.

“G-God,” he gasped into your mouth. “You feel so–so perfect–I c-can’t–” He pressed his forehead against yours, sweat-slick and shivering, his voice unraveling into something raw. “I’m gonna–Y/N–I c-can’t hold back–please come with me–please–”

You nodded, frantic, the pleasure building low in your spine like a storm. Your thighs trembled, your mouth fell open, and you barely managed a whispered, “Yes–yes, I’m close, Bob, I’m right there–”

His arm tightened around you again, holding you together as he watched your reflection–watched your mouth fall open, your eyes flutter shut, your body writhing beneath him.

“I see you,” He whispered. “I see you, I’ve got you, just–just let go, I’m right here–”

You did.

Your orgasm hit you so fast it felt like your entire body was going to give out. It was brilliant, consuming, and it had every nerve ending singing with heat. Your body pulsed around him, clenching and fluttering in frantic waves, and the cry that tore from your throat was almost too much to bear.

Soon after Bob twitched deep inside you, thick and hot, and you felt him spill–pulse after pulse of heat filling you, his hips jerking in short, erratic thrusts as he buried himself as far as he could go. His moan was wrecked–raw and full–and it tumbled from him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. It wasn’t loud. It was low. Shaky. The sound a man makes when he’s completely undone. A whimper edged with disbelief, like he was giving you the very last piece of himself.

And just then–like the world exhaled around you–you heard it.

A faint, hairline crack.

Barely a sound.

Your gaze flicked up, dazed and hazy through the aftermath, and there it was: a thin fracture running across the mirror. A small, pale lightning bolt etched in glass, splitting right where your bodies met in reflection.

You blinked.

And then you tightened your hold on him.

Your hand clutched at the arm that held you–his forearm still locked gently around your chest–and your other reached blindly to touch his shoulder. You turned your head just enough to feel the hot tremble of his breath against your skin, the way it stuttered and hitched through parted lips still struggling to return to earth.

His entire body was shaking against yours. Not violently–just overwhelmed. The way a dam trembles after it’s burst.

“Shh,” you whispered, kissing the edge of his cheek. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He moaned again–quiet this time, muffled against your skin, and full of something so deep it almost hurt. His arm loosened slightly from around your neck and slid lower, wrapping fully around your torso as he exhaled one long, shivering breath. His body collapsed slowly over yours, his chest pressed against your back, both of you trembling, covered in sweat and each other.

He didn’t pull out.

He couldn’t–not yet.

You could still feel him twitching softly inside you, still half-hard, still pulsing faintly from the intensity of it all. His cum was already starting to leak back down between your thighs, warmth slicking your folds, but neither of you moved to clean it up. Not yet.

He kissed your shoulder.

Then your neck.

Then the curve of your spine.

Each one slow and breathless. A vow, a thank you, a grounding touch.

You tilted your head back toward him, catching his lips with your own. The kiss was soft now. Lingering. Your mouths moved lazily together, wet and tender and full of exhaustion.

“Jesus,” He whispered against your mouth. “I–I didn’t mean to… I think I…”

“I know,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the damp nape of his neck. “I saw it.”

His breath caught. “I–I cracked the mirror, didn’t I?”

You nodded once, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Just a little.”

A silence stretched between you, warm and golden and full of breath.

Then he laughed–quiet and stunned–and buried his face into your shoulder again.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I–I didn’t mean to lose control.” You let out a soft sigh.

”It’s okay Bob…You were overwhelmed and feeling good…Let’s just hope Sentry is the one that gets seven years bad luck.” You both laughed–low and loose and breathless, the sound catching in the honey-thick air between your bodies. Bob’s chest vibrated softly against your back as he let out another stifled chuckle, nuzzling his nose into the space just beneath your ear.

“Only you,” He murmured, his voice warm and worn down, “C–Can make light of me literally c-cracking your mirror mid-orgasm.” You tilted your head slightly, grinning despite the ache still thrumming between your thighs.

“I mean… If you’re gonna break something,” You said, glancing back at him with a playful glint in your eyes, “At least it wasn’t my pelvis.”

That made him snort and he buried his face deeper into your shoulder, completely wrecked by laughter now. You felt the full ripple of it through his chest, the way his arms tightened around you just a little as if he could keep this moment stitched to the skin.

You turned your head, kissed him again–slow and sweet. No rush. Just the warm slide of lips and breath. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking your skin as he kissed you back with the kind of quiet that said I never want to stop doing this.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his voice rough with affection. “I should, uh… I should pull out.”

You nodded softly. “Okay.”

He moved slowly, gently easing out of you with a quiet gasp at the sensitivity. You both hissed a little–his from overstimulation, yours from the sticky stretch of release leaving your body. He lingered there for a beat, fingers brushing your hip, as if he hated the idea of not being connected to you anymore.

He stayed close even after he pulled out, one hand resting lightly on your lower back, the other brushing your hip like he needed to reassure himself you were still there. The room was warm, quiet, the mirror fractured but the world around you whole.

“W–We should get cleaned up,” He murmured, his voice still dazed but laced with care. “D–Do you wanna…Maybe shower? With me?” His fingers twitched gently where they touched your side. “Only if you want to. I just—I don’t really wanna let you go yet…”

Your heart melted.

You turned slowly beneath him, shifting onto your back so you could face him fully. His hair was damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends, cheeks still flushed, lips swollen. But it was his eyes that undid you. Wide and soft and full of affection. Still a little glassy. Still glowing slightly from the shock of Sentry.

“Of course,” You whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair, a soft blush rose to his cheeks, as you leaned up to kiss the tip of his nose, “I kinda wanna be held under hot water for like…An hour. Minimum.”

Bob gave you the softest grin. “I-I can do that. I’m good at holding.” His tone was still tentative, but there was pride there too. A glimmer of purpose. “You’ll be the cleanest, most held person in the entire compound.”

You sat up slowly, wincing slightly at the soreness blooming in your thighs and core. Bob immediately reached to steady you, his hands finding your waist, his brows pinched in concern.

“I’m okay,” You promised him with a soft smile, “Just a bit sore.”His ears turned red.

“S-Sorry.” He whispered.

“Don’t be,” You said gently, leaning in to press your forehead to his. “I liked being yours.”

His breath caught at that, his hands tightening gently on your sides. Then he kissed you–slow and soft and grateful. And when you pulled back, his hand brushed along your arm as he helped you out of bed.

You led the way to your en suite bathroom, flicking on the light that glowed soft and golden. The room was warm, fogged slightly from earlier use, and your spare towels were already folded neatly on the rack. You reached for two, tossed one onto the nearby counter for later, and handed Bob the other to keep nearby.

He looked at it like it was some sacred token.

You turned the water on and waited for it to warm while he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your waist and nuzzling the back of your neck.

“I could get used to this,” He whispered.

“What, showering?” You teased, smiling as you leaned back into his chest.

“No,” He said, shaking his head slightly. “Just…Being with you. Like this.”

You turned in his arms, heart thudding, and kissed him slow and sure. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The water turned to steam.

You stepped in first, guiding him in with you. It was small, a bit cramped–but it didn’t matter. You made room for each other. Bob pressed close, arms winding gently around your back as the water poured down over you both. His mouth found your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your lips, peppering you with soft, adoring kisses as the heat melted the soreness from your limbs.

He helped you wash your entire body. His fingers in your hair, gentle and careful as they massaged your scalp with your favorite shampoo. His palms smoothing body wash over your skin like you were something precious and breakable, his lips brushing your shoulder every few seconds just to stay close.

You did the same for him, trailing your hands down his chest, watching the way he shivered beneath your touch even now. You cleaned him carefully, quietly, the lather sliding down both your bodies in pearled rivulets. Every time you looked up at him, he was already looking at you. Eyes soft. Lips parted. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

At one point, you turned under the spray and leaned your back into his chest. Bob immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush to him beneath the stream of water. His chin came to rest atop your head, his breath steadying.

“I—I feel like I’m gonna cry,” He admitted quietly, after a long silence.

You tilted your head back just enough to look up at him. “Why?”

“Because…” He swallowed. “B-Because I’ve never felt this safe. And that’s… Not something I ever thought I’d get.”

You reached up, touched his jaw, and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “Then I’ll just have to keep giving it to you.”

His arms tightened around you, and he let out a long, trembling breath.

“Promise?” He whispered.

“Always,” You said. And meant it.

In the shower’s warmth, with your bodies tangled and your hearts steadying into one rhythm, nothing else in the world existed.

Just you and Bob. Soft skin. Steam. And the quiet knowledge that everything had changed.

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outer-andromeda · 4 months ago

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Usually I try to better clean up and color these... But I REALLY wanted to share 'em as soon as possible cuz I really like how they look already, sue me :')))

Some story time under the cut for those of you who want context >:000

((EDIT - Small TWs for some negative talk and mentions of grief. Also spoilers for the ending on Chapter 4 :00)

As mentioned in a previous post, Gabby and Doey's relationship is... Very strained after the events of the fourth chapter.

Doey joined the group (Gabby, Kissy and Ava) eventually while they were venturing as subtly as possible to avoid running into Huggy. It was a surprise, obviously - they all thought he was six feet underground since the aftermath of him crashing down. They were all relieved to know he was still alive, but something was different. He wasn't as jovial as his usual self was... He was just... Off. Quiet. Monotone.

(Which is understandable since the guy is literally GRIEVING the loss of the kids of the Safe Haven y'know- and he feels immense guilt for what happened)

At some point, they get separated - Kissy and Ava stick together, while Doey and Gabby venture on their own way, both groups hoping to join each other again eventually. Doey and Gabby still have that quiet dynamic going on, because the human guy doesn't want to make things any worse than they already are. So he tries to be the cheerful one. For both his and Doey's sakes. He tries as hard as he can. But it falls flat. And Gabby, despite himself, grows more and more irritated by Doey's unusual calmness. Something's obviously going on and he won't say anything about it.

Something happens that puts them in a dangerous situation, and everything spills out. Gabby wants to talk, he wants answers. Doey is trying to ignore it, but he's being pushed. And suddenly his anger blooms back out. And he lashes out on Gabby. Shouts all the words he hadn't gotten out. How he was never any good for the kids. How he could've done so much more. How if it wasn't for him, "they'd still be breathing and standing right now". How Gabby can't understand. And Gabby... Takes it. He stands there, listening to every single thing he says. Silently.

He's not afraid. And Doey notices. It's unnerving. It catches him completely off guard. It's like something is starting to break inside of him. Something he's not sure he wants to let shatter much more...

And then Gabby hugs him. And the thing in Doey's core is completely obliterated. And the tears are finally, finally let loose. And his shoulders finally relax to wrap themselves around the short man.

They talk after some VERY good comforting words from Gabby. They find Kissy and Ava after some searching, and they're back on track.

And from then on, their relationship changes back slowly to the small friendship they had formed in the past, plus more. They both understand and trust each other, and Doey feels relief from having someone he can confide in and let himself relax with. And just... Be a kid. Even if just for a bit. All three kids need that so badly, and Gabby tries his best to give that to them. To Doey. Because he, out of anyone, deserves a break the most.

#... oof. i uh. might come in and change some of all that because this is all one-shot and lots of it probably don't make any sense #I TRIED #I promise I can write sometimes. today just isn't the day I think whoops #ANYWAY- AU LOREEEE #Because I need Doey to be happy again damnit :((((#Immediate serotonin #+ gave a hug to the guy because GOODNESS GRACIOUS DOES HE NEED A THOUSAND #my art #doodle #writing #poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime spoilers #doey #doey the doughman #self insert #ppt #big bro & kids shenanigans au #PS. also keep in mind I'm French so uh... if some stuff don't make sense that might also explain why lmao

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professional-rat-eater · 3 months ago

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The entirety of Dracula by Bram Stoker is really just:

Dr Seward: I wish we could figure out what’s wrong with Lucy.

Van Helsing: I figured it out immediately but I’m just going to let you solve it yourselves.

Dr Seward: Or you could just tell us.

Van Helsing: Friend John :( I have known you for one thousand years and you have been one of my very good friends and best students :( Do you not trust me? Why do you not trust me, friend John? Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me? Do you not think I have a good reason for withholding vital information? :(:(:(:( Have faith in me, your very old and good friend.

Dr Seward: You’re right :(

Lucy: I love everyone so much and I’m going to tell them every day 🥰💕 also legalise polyamory wtf

Renfield: look at all my pets that I’m definitely not eating 🪰🪰🪰🪰

Dr Seward: What happened to all the birds I gave you?

Renfield, with a mouth full of a feathers: I have no idea.

Arthur: I think… I miss my wife… also how the fuck didn’t we realise Dracula’s house was right next door?

Quincey: I keep saying I’m not that smart but I’m the only one to immediately point out that something was actively taking Lucy’s blood. Brb need to go shoot a giant bat with a gun.

Mina: I am the only person keeping this shit show together. We literally would not have made it without me and no one who adapts my character seems to get that. Women are the heart of this story. I am the glue that binds this group together. I just want ONE MOVIE that understands that and values my intelligence, which is at the forefront of my character.

Renfield: I have an entire character arc but don’t expect any adaptations to show it.

Quincey: ok but what if… we shot Dracula with a gun??? Also stop fucking cutting me from all the adaptations.

Jonathan: has seen indescribable horrors, is a shell of his former self, will literally never be what he was before going to Transylvania

Dracula: oh Jonathan! 🥰🥰🧛🏻🧛🏻🥰🩸🩸🥰🥰

BONUS: everyone is constantly holding hands, especially all of the men, and talking about how they’re going to be best friends forever. The male friendships in this book are shockingly pure and the women are incredible. The Crew of Light are actually the only found family ever, I think.

#dracula #bram stoker #dracula daily #mina harker #jonathan harker #quincey morris #arthur holmwood #john seward #renfield #count dracula #lucy westenra #abraham van helsing #classic literature #horror literature #gothic literature #dracula spoilers

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masochistkatsuki · 6 months ago

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Team Player - Bakusquad x Reader

Prologue, → Masterlist

Is fucking your entire friend group 'for the team ?' Well.. yea !! It just so happens they're all also stupid hot.

Extra : Should be six parts not including this prologue and an epilogue. Fem reader, Bakugou centered x reader. smut obvi

When your best friend, Mina Ashido, and other close friend, Eijirou Kirishima wont do anything about the sexual tension thats been going on for two years now, your entire friend groups eventually gets fed up.

Being the closest to Mina, the responsibility gets put on you to get them to finally fuck. And pressure is getting higher. Every time they get touchy but act like they aren't during smoke sessions is going to be the last straw to make everyone vomit on them. But knowing Mina, it's at a heinous price. Looks like you'll just have to take one for the team.

You were a well accomplished student, getting accepted into UA at 15 and ranking #2 in the Entrance Exam.

Second only to infamous Katsuki Bakugou, against his will, you forced your way into being one of his early friends at UA, despite his rude personality. I guess being "not super weak like the other extras" had its perks.

The friendships grew quickly, every day the first week a new person would sit with Katsuki. He never thought he'd meet so many people, let alone get used to their company.

"I'm only here to succeed !" He shouted roughly, slightly spitting, one day at the usual table during your first year. Your main group, Sero, Mina, Jirou, Denki, and Kirishima, just kinda sighed with a smile and accepted his attitude. You, however, perked up and laughed back at him.

"By the end of our Hero Training," You looked up towards Katsuki, "You're going to say 'we're here to succeed !"

Though he laughed at it at the time, calling you corny, here you all were. Throughout all the shit UA put you all through, work studies, fucking wara, and literally living together, the 'Bakusquad' was beyond a doubt one of the strongest friends groups in the entire Academy. In terms of physical abilities, and emotional connection alike.

And tonight, you were all going to succeed at getting into a real club for the first time.

"You want me to WHAT ?" You sat dumbfounded, in front of Minas holywood lighted mirror. You were doing your lipgloss, ready for the nerve wracking night out, when she finally gave in to your demand of two years.

You see, now being in your third year at UA, watching Mina and Kirishima steal glances at eachother, brushing hands while walking, falling asleep on each other, eye fucking at every party, posting eachother constantly, always flirting, drunk kissing once during spin the bottle and suddenly only making eye contact with the others lips.. your entire friend group just needed them to fuck and shut up about it already.

Sero and Denki had already been begging you to do something about it since the beginning of your second year, and Jirou got fed up with it completely by the end of the same one. Katsuki was a different story, never seeming to comment on or even notice anything romantic. He just was rude and yelled regardless of feelings. Honestly, it impressed you how he could insult Kirishima on his hair, teeth, eyes, the way he pronounces "cinnamon", and more before calling out the boner in his sweats.

"Thats right !" She giggled, dancing a little out of pure joy. What a sadist. "I want you to fuck everyone else in our friend group first !! ☆" You sighed, clearly not understanding what the point in this was. "Besides, I need to know if Kiris any good !"

Your hand smudged the pink tinted gloss across your cheek after you gasped and jumped in your (her) chair. " Eww !! Kirishima too ?There's really no way you want me to do that.. right ?" You nervously laughed at Mina, who'd only practiced and honed her abilities to put people in the most drama-inducing, best story to tell in 20 years situations. Her smile was not the usual joking one you knew.

Class 3-A, especially her closest friends, knew better than anyone that once Mina Ashido set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. Obviously, if you didn't want to, you knew you didnt have to and that she wouldn't force you. The issue you is..

A) You have NO idea when she'll have an offer like this again.

B) You aren't thaaaaat against the idea....

"Cmon.. were all super close ! Besides, youre hella fuckin hot ! And I knew you thought Kiri was back in our first year tooooo" She got close to you, winking in your face, emphasizing her point.

"But.. we're all just friends.. and that was freshman year, hes yours girl. Besides, none of them would go that far with me, right ?" You nervously held back sweat, truly youd only embarrass yourself by attempting this.

"Youre soooo oblivious ! One night before I have him locked away isnt the end of the world" Mina cried out, though you couldn't help laugh at the humor. She threw her leg over yours and looked down at you. "Want me to prove it to you ? Prove that everyone in that group chat wouldn't think twice about taking you ?"

"Thats different," You pouted, pulling her further onto your lap. "We've made out a million times already, and we're both girls.."

She used her palms to tilt your head up slightly, her black and yellow eyes gleaming mischievously into yours. "Jirous a girl."

"Me and Jirou have also made out a million times.. she also doesn't count.." She rocked her hips against yours, rubbing her clit right just above yours. "Mina.." You whined. "Just because we have chemistry doesn't mean me and the others will."

She hummed, "Are you really best friends if you don't have sexual chemistry ?", finally pressing herself hard against your clothed clit finally. The pressure felt nice, a perfect, pleasurable feeling in contrast to the heavy task at hand. "Let me calm you down, and besides I know some stuff that might help." She pressed a kiss to your cheek, running her hands up your back. Anything to keep the smoke sesh's pg-13 I guess. You gave her upper thighs a soft squeeze, setting the tone and pushing her on slightly.

"The boys have said quite a few flattering things about you.." She peppered soft kisses on the corner of your mouth, you closed your eyes, letting the velvety pushes flutter down your jaw. "Oh, and you already know Jirous lesbian ass has said the worst stuff.." Her lips mumbled against your neck. Hmm. Well an ego boost never hurts either.. You're especially curious if Katsuki - Idontdoromance - Bakugou has said anything about you.. Fuck it.

PT 2 COMING SOON !

#mha x reader #bakusquad x reader #bakugou x reader #mina x reader #denki x reader #kirishima x reader #sero x reader #jirou x reader #mha smut #bakusquad smut #bakugou smut #mina smut #Kirishima smut #denki smut #sero smut #jirou smut

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imzhouxinyu · 1 month ago

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BROKE GiRLS CODE ( l.hs )

──── pairing : bsf brother!lee heeseung x fem!reader

──── synopsis : Heeseung was the unapologetic rebel your sister warned you about: tattooed slacker who always hung around your house because he happened to be your best friend’s older brother. But after a tipsy truth or dare that ends with a secret the two of you had promised would never get out, the last thing you expected was for his friends to blab everything… to your sister. Now, while your family’s trust is on the line, your friendships are on the verge of collapse and Heeseung seems to be the only one remotely interested, you find yourself asking what truly happened that night: was it a mistake brought on by too much alcohol, or had both of you broken the code long before then?

──── theme : slowburn , friends to lovers , best friend’s brother trope, smut , angst, fluff.

──── warnings : nsfw mdni , unprotected sex , oral (f.rec) , dom!heeseung sub!femreader , light degration & praise , manhandling , rough sex , size kink, possessive and jealous hee !

──── taglist : @shyoko

You met Heeseung the summer before your second year of college.

You knew of him because he was Yunah’s older brother, he was attractive, nonchalant, he had the perfect body and he was cool. The type who made everyone shut up when he walked into a room.

He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was always clever. Smooth.

He had this stare that stayed in your mind, forever.

You used to think it meant nothing.

You were wrong.

The thing was: you saw him everywhere.

He was always crashing on the couch after basketball practice, walking around shirtless in the kitchen, teasing Yunah with his other friends while she was with you.

You weren’t supposed to be watching him. But you did.

And maybe he noticed.

One night, you were curled up on the floor in your pajamas, scrolling your phone while the others argued over movie picks, and Heeseung leaned against the wall, eyes on you, and said, “You always sit like that?”

You blinked. “Like what?”

He gave a lazy half-smirk. “Like you want someone to pull you into their lap.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t respond.

You shouldn’t have.

Because it wasn’t just teasing anymore.

It was something else.

Things were changing slowly.

He’d offer you sips of his drink when no one was looking. Sit next to you even when there was a free seat across the room. Brush your hand on the staircase, low enough no one noticed.

He called you princess once, just once, and the way your thighs clenched was embarrassing.

You told yourself he didn’t mean it.

You told yourself he did.

It got worse when your friends started teasing you.

“Why do you blush every time Heeseung breathes?” Karina said.

“He literally just exists,” Winter added, rolling her eyes.

But Ningning looked at you knowingly. “You want him, don’t you?”

You denied it.

Too fast, almost suspiciously.

Because you didn’t want to want him.

He was Yunah’s brother.

Your best friend’s brother.

That’s girl code 101.

You didn’t break rules like that.

Until the night he found you crying in the kitchen.

You’d just failed a midterm. Your group project fell apart. You fought with Minji. Everything collapsed at once.

You thought everyone had gone to bed.

But Heeseung walked in, sleepy-eyed, shirtless, holding a glass of water.

And paused.

“You good?”

You were sobbing , wiping your eyes fast. “Yeah..just, ugh..I can’t even..”

He leaned against the counter. “What happened?”

You didn’t mean to tell him.

But you did.

And he listened.

Really listened.

No teasing. No smirks. Just quiet understanding.

Then he reached forward, brushed a thumb under your eye, and whispered, “You work so hard. You don’t deserve to break over things like this.”

Your chest cracked open.

Heeseung kept his hand there. Just long enough to make you feel safe.

Wanted.

After that, it spiraled, you guys started to get closer and closer each time. Late night calling, private talks, gaming.. things he used to do with only his ex.

That moment on the balcony when he pressed you to the railing, breath warm on your neck.

The way he looked at your lips but didn’t kiss you.

“Why do you keep doing that?” you whispered once.

He smirked. “Doing what?”

“Acting like you want to kiss me, then pulling away.”

His eyes darkened.

“Because I do.”

You froze.

“But if I start,” he murmured, leaning close, “I won’t stop at just kissing you.”

Your knees went weak.

You thought about that line for weeks.

You told yourself you were over it.

That it was just lust. Just tension.

But one night, lying in bed with Giselle and Ningning gossiping beside you, you realized it wasn’t that.

You liked his voice. The way he called people out gently. How he always handed Yunah the remote even though she never asked.

You liked him.

Really liked him.

And that’s when it hit you.

You were absolutely fucked.

Because you didn’t just want him for just fucking and getting over ur shitty ex..

You wanted his heart.

And then , it came Jake’s party.

You hadn’t planned to go. But everyone was going. Yunah insisted. Ningning dressed you in a tiny black skirt and told you to “act like you own the whole house.”

Heeseung was already there when you walked in. Leaning on the kitchen island. Red solo cup in hand.

He looked up.

And froze.

You knew that look, it was hunger.

The game of truth or dare started halfway through the night. Loud music. Too many drinks. Heeseung beside you again, drunk.

“Truth,” he said.

Jake grinned. “Ever thought about fucking someone in this room?”

Everyone laughed.

But Heeseung?

He looked straight at you.

Didn’t say your name.

Didn’t have to.

The air shifted.

Your whole body flushed, your thighs clenching.

After that, it was a blur.

You went upstairs.

His hand in yours.

Heeseung didn’t wait.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, he had you pressed against it, his mouth crashing into yours like he’d been starving. The taste of alcohol lingered between you, but nothing dulled the heat. His hands gripped your hips tight—too tight—and you moaned into the kiss, letting him devour you.

“You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” he growled, voice thick and ragged. “Watching you walk around like you don’t fucking know what you do to me?”

“Heeseung—” you gasped, dizzy.

“Wearing that tiny skirt,” he murmured, sliding a hand beneath it, his fingers dragging up your thigh. “All night. Like you wanted me to snap.”

“I did,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

He spun you, pressing your chest to the door, grinding his hard cock against your ass.

“You’ve got no fucking idea what you just gave me permission to do,” he breathed, kissing up the back of your neck.

You whimpered when his hand slid into your panties—fingers instantly finding how soaked you were.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled. “You’re dripping.”

You arched into his touch. “Please—”

“What do you want?” he asked darkly, slipping one thick finger inside you. “Tell me.”

“You. I want you.”

He turned you around so fast your back hit the wood with a thud. His mouth crashed into yours again, desperate, hungry, needy. He walked you backward toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, until your knees hit the edge.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he said, dragging your panties down. “Every time you laugh. Every time you act all innocent when you’re clearly just waiting for someone to put you in your place.”

He shoved you gently onto the mattress and dropped to his knees.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” he muttered, spreading your thighs wide. “It’s only fair I get to make a mess of you now.”

You barely managed to gasp before his mouth was on your pussy—tongue licking a long, slow stripe up your center.

Your head fell back. “Oh my God—”

He groaned against you like he couldn’t get enough. His tongue moved with precision—circling your clit, then flicking fast, then sucking just enough to make your legs tremble.

You fisted the sheets, arching off the bed. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead,” he muttered between licks. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Right on my fucking tongue.”

You shattered.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your hips jerking as waves of pleasure tore through you. He held you down, let you ride it out, his lips never leaving your heat until you were whimpering from the overstimulation.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening. And his eyes? Ravenous.

“Still with me?” he asked.

You nodded, breathless.

“Good. Because I’m not fucking done.”

He stripped in seconds—shirt, jeans, boxers—until he was standing in front of you, hard and heavy between his thighs, his veins popping, tip flushed.

Your eyes widened.

He smirked.

“Think you can take it?”

“Please,” you whispered.

He leaned down, kissing you slowly this time. “You sure about this? Because once I fuck you, baby, that’s it.”

Your heart pounded.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

That’s all he needed.

He climbed on top of you, lined himself up at your entrance—bare, hot, throbbing.

And slid in.

Raw. No condom. No barrier. Just you and him and all that heat and skin and emotion crashing into one breathless, broken moan.

“Fuck—you feel too good,” he hissed, burying himself deeper. “So tight. So warm. You were made for me.”

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his back as he filled you to the hilt.

The stretch was overwhelming. He was big—thick, heavy—but you took all of him.

“Look at that,” he whispered against your neck. “Taking me so well. Letting me fuck you raw. So fucking desperate for me.”

He started moving—slow, deep thrusts that made your whole body tremble.

The room was filled with the sound of skin on skin, moans, whispered curses. Your name on his lips. His name on yours.

“You’re mine,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Heeseung—fuck—I’m yours!”

He wrapped his hand around your throat—not squeezing, just holding—and drove into you harder.

“You’re gonna cum for me again,” he growled. “Let me feel it. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”

You were already there.

Your body tensed. Your legs wrapped around his waist. You came with a cry, pulsing around him.

That sent him over the edge.

“Shit—gonna fill you up,” he groaned. “Gonna cum inside this perfect pussy.”

You gasped.

And then you felt it—warm, thick, deep. His release spilling inside you with a low, broken moan as he buried himself to the base.

He didn’t pull out right away.

Just hovered over you, breath ragged, forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re fucking mine now.”

You nod, frantically, still panting.

You didn’t know what you got urself into.

Because a week later, everything shattered.

Someone blurted it out at another party.

“Yeah, Heeseung and her? They fucked upstairs at Jake’s. Ask him.”

The room went silent.

Yunah stared.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Your blood went cold.

You were done for.

You ran out of the room.

He didn’t follow.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t defend you.

And that hurt worse than anything.

You cried for days.

Minji threatened to kill him.

Winter said “I told you so.”

Karina and Hanni held your hands.

But nothing helped.

Because it wasn’t just sex.

You loved him.

And he let you think it meant nothing.

The night it rained, he showed up on your street, hoodie soaked, eyes wrecked.

And whispered, “I love you.”

You slammed the door in his face.

He knocked again.

“I was scared,” he said. “Scared that I wanted something I couldn’t have. But I never meant to hurt you. Please—let me fix this.”

You looked at him.

At the boy who broke you.

The boy who made you feel like everything.

And you whispered, “One chance.”

He pulled you into his arms like he’d never let go.

Now with heeseung?

He kisses you slow.

Loves you softer.

Fucks you like he means it.

You still catch Yunah giving him death stares. But she’s trying.

Because even she sees it now.

Heeseung doesn’t just want you.

He’s yours.

And he always was.

Even when it broke every rule in the girls book.

#fanfic #k pop fanfic #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #heeseung #heeseung x reader

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bluem1lls · 5 months ago

Note

Hai can you make one where she’s clingy? She’s her same usual self except she’s really clingy. Like she’s clingy in a way but she’s still hot or “nonchalant” about it. Oh and the setting of this story is after the big whole fight scene where she got her ahh killed. Except she doesn’t die this time and wasn’t fighting with nam-gyu in the first place. She was hiding with Gi-huns group. Go hard on the fluff I’m begging.

✧₊⁺ you belong with me!

✦ synopsis: your best friend is so clingy, she might wanna ruin the friendship! content: pure fluff, being best friends although you both want something more, shes clingy (if she doesn't have you besides her she might die) authors note: hiii sorry for taking so long! its so short but i hope u like it💓

⠄⠂☆ she has always been super clingy to you, even though you've been best friends for a while (because you were both cowards who couldn't talk about feelings)

⠄⠂☆ she told you she wanted to get into the game and if that meant you could both win and help her pay her debts, you're on

⠄⠂☆ because you'd do anything to help the person you love. your... best friend.

⠄⠂☆ but she's SOOO into you, she wants to protect you all the time and that means she constantly needs to be by your side

⠄⠂☆ like literally. don't even get me started when the game begins. like middle of the night, you're almost peeing yourself so you wake up to run quickly to the bathroom as you see her sitting up, rubbing her eyes so sleepy as she stares at you confused.

"where are we going?" she asks, her voice still soggy from a deep sleep.

"bathroom, but stay here and sleep-"

yeah no. she's already up by your side, dragging her feet.

⠄⠂☆ so with every game she becomes more and more protective and clingy, she's so afraid that something might happen to you. she can't leave you alone!

⠄⠂☆ this is only a side for you to see tho. ask anyone else, they'd be amazed to know the girl that looks like they could kill them is so soft for her girl (not really her girl but you get it) (she says you are)

⠄⠂☆ "oh please. you're judging him? you get the same nerves, except you shut them out with one of your pills" she says to nam-gyu.

you're getting closer because you just KNOW this will end up bad and when he notices you, he mumbles something to her.

not even two minutes after, he's on the floor with a bloody nose and a purple eye.

deserved.

⠄⠂☆ "what did he said?" you say, washing her knuckles as she hissed. her right hand letting the water run to wash the blood while her left arm was wrapped around your waist.

"something fucking dumb"

"what does that mean? oh wait did he said something about my body or-"

she snorted, rolling her eyes while mumbling.

"he said that if i keep bothering him, he'll 'steal my little girlfriend' and that it wouldn't bother him seeing you underneath him"

and you're frozen, staring at her wide eyed as you make a grossed out expression.

"ew, oh my god"

she nods.

"did you get mad that you got the mental image of me undrrneath him or mad he was about to steal your little girlflriend?" i teased her, softly chuckling

"maybe both" she mumbled, looking away.

wait what?

⠄⠂☆ it doesn't take you both more than two minutes until you're locked in the bathroom stall making out.

"fuck, i can't believe i've missed this the last 6 years of my life" she says in between kisses.

biting her lips, i nod excited.

"well, then it's time to get moving" i said, lifting and removing my shirt as she stares.

⠄⠂☆ yeah. she's down bad for her girl. completely.

⠄⠂☆ after that, you're both on the common room again, faces flushed but she's hugging you from behind. now she can finally say you're hers and she's so happy she might cry.

⠄⠂☆ and when it's time for 'lights out'?

you're both underneath a bed with jun-hee and her ex.

⠄⠂☆ from the corner of your eye, you noticed nam gyu trying to get close, looking for someone.

"uh, sem? wait here"

"what? no?" she says, grabbing your arm.

"wait here, i'm serious. i'll be fine" i said running from her grip and getting up from underneath.

he spots you as he walks towards you. he's filled with blood.

"what the fuck do you want?" you ask him as he stares at you, thirsty for a new fight.

"hi doll, where's that little girlfriend of yours?"

"why do you wanna know?" you reply as he rolls his eyes and gets closer to you.

"why don't you just tell me hm? i'd like to keep that pretty face with no cuts"

you kick him in the balls as he winces in pain and tries to stab you with the shard of glass, but only manages to do a deep scratch on your ribs.

as he stands up, leaving aside the pain to throw himself at you, someone grabs him from the neck and chokes him, only to twist his head. his body falls to the ground as you stare at in-ho with your mouth open in surprise.

you quickly run to hug him as he stays there, frozen in place. he haven't felt a hug in so long, he honestly forgot how that felt.

"thank you so much" you said as he pats your back with a small smile.

"we can't lose one of us"

⠄⠂☆ when you're back, your girlfriend looks like she's about to have a panic attack as you see her checking every corner.

once she sees you, she lets out a breathing she didn't even know she was holding as she run towards you.

"what the fuck? where were you?" she grabs your face and places a peck on your lips. "you can't do that to me because what if i lost you or-"

"se-mi, i love you so much" you kiss her as she holds you, quickly replying to your kiss.

as the lights turn on, you two get back to the group to stay safe.

⠄⠂☆ and so it goes, another day more in this fucked up place, but while she's here, you can survive anywhere.

#se mi x reader #player 380 x reader #se-mi x reader #player 380 #se-mi #se mi #squid game #lesbian #squid game 2 #se mi squid game #wlw

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idkdudethisisntpermanent · 8 months ago

Text

Keep Your Eyes on Me

tara carpenter x female reader

part i | part ii

summary: You’ve quickly become close with all of Tara’s friends, but her trust issues keep her at a distance from you. But maybe you're able to chip away at her defenses...

word count: 2.2k

————

"I don't get why no one else is suspicious of her!" Tara exclaims looking around at everyone with a frustrated expression. "Mindy? You're literally suspicious of every living thing. And Sam what the fuck, you don't let me leave the house unless I'm carrying a cross bow or something," she exaggerates rolling her eyes.

"Why are we speaking about me like I'm not here?" You whisper to Chad next to you while ripping your string cheese into strands. He laughs but so does everyone else, seems like your whisper wasn't as quiet as you thought.

Tara groans frustrated and heads up the stairs, leaving her friends and you in the living room in an awkward silence.

Sam was the first to break it, "She'll come around, it's just been hard on her you know? Trusting new people and all that fun stuff."

You give her a nod completely understanding the root of Tara's issues with you, it wasn't personal but that didn't mean her distrust in you didn't sting. Especially considering it's been four months since you met the group.

"I am curious though," you speak, "She's not wrong Mindy, you're sus of everyone. And Sam why do you trust me too?"

"Well you met my brother playing pickle ball," the twin speaks. "Pickle ball doesn't really strike me as a psychopathic killer activity," she laughs.

"Neither does string cheese. Can you imagine Ghostface stringing their cheese and eating it?" Sam adds with a laugh.

You don't know whether to be relieved or offended that your habits don't indicate you to be a killer. But you're grateful that the rest of the group clicked with you quickly after Chad introduced you to them.

The core four minus Tara sometimes wanted to smack the girl across the head for being so oblivious and blind to you. Before you met the group Chad being the yapper that he is, explained all that happened in the past year and a half, so you were fairly well equipped with knowledge on how to navigate a friendship with everyone.

Everyone also noticed how attentive you were to Tara especially. You didn't know what it was but you immediately developed a soft spot for the girl when Chad told you all she went through. Meeting her for the first time you instinctively felt the need to protect her but that's been quite hard with her negative feelings towards you, but that doesn't mean you don't try.

————

Sam eventually goes up to Tara's room once everyone leaves and decides to put an end to this. The younger Carpenter looks at her sister from her bed when the door is opened at a speed where its hinges could fly off.

"Jesus Sam, why are we trying to break my door."

"What the hell are you doing Tara?" Sam gets to the point ignoring the question.

"What are you talking about?"

"Y/n."

"Ughhhhhh!" She turns around face planting into her pillow with a groan, hating the topic of you.

"It's been four months and you haven't once given the poor girl the benefit of the doubt." The sister says softly. "I don't know why you're so keen on hating her, it's like you want her to be Ghostface just so you can prove a point."

Tara turns around to respond, clearly annoyed. "Because it's so clear she doesn't have good intentions! I don't get you either sis, you want me to be cautious of people, but it's a problem when its Y/n?"

Sam sighs moving to sit on the foot of the bed, "Tara, do you not see how much that girl cares about you?"

Tara is silent and looks down at her fiddling hands not knowing what to say. She does know how much you care and she hates it.

All those times you would come over to her place with the excuse of "Mindy sent me to grab something" but you always stayed until Sam got home from work, just so she wouldn't have to be alone.

"Clearly you do realize how much she cares for you," Sam says taking notice of her sister's silence and demeanor.

Tara turns red recalling how you would always be attentive to the leg that Ghostface broke a year ago. You would always position yourself so she'd have access to the railing of a staircase. Offer to drive her places that may have seemed like too lengthy of a walk. Straggle behind the group when you realized she couldn't walk as fast as the others. And even deprive yourself of any physical activities that the group was participating in, so Tara wouldn't feel alone when she sat out.

"The damn girl literally sits in the kitchen whenever your hungry ass wants to cook something so you'd feel safer!" Sam suddenly says. "Even I hadn't thought about how being in the kitchen may give you PTSD."

Tara hadn't either. But now that she knew the reason why you'd sit with her in the kitchen, she realized that she did feel much more comfortable with you in there then the times you weren't. After all she did have her attack take place in the kitchen. The brown eyed girl shrunk into her sweater in shame as she recalled how poorly she treated you that day.

You leave the group who were playing an intense round of charades in the living room and decide to join Tara who was alone in the kitchen.

"Hey what are you making?" You smile.

She ignores you and continues to get the seasoning out for the mac and cheese she was making herself.

"Why aren't you playing with everyone else?" Tara suddenly spoke.

"Just wanted to see what you were up to."

"Well you can leave now," she rolls her eyes.

"I'm good, I'll stay here."

"You do know that you aren't winning any points with me by trying to talk to me and forcing proximity right?" Tara says with attitude. "I still don't trust you and if your goal isn't to kill me, but just to get in my pants, then I'm so sorry if I ever made you believe that you had a chance with me." she finishes sarcastically feigning a genuine apology.

"Not my goal," you reply keeping it short. You knew the girl would not receive anything you say, so you got up from the seat you initially took at the island in the kitchen and went to the dining table which was a little further away. Tara thought that you left since she didn't hear any comments from you anymore and her pride was too high for her to turn around and check if you were still there. She couldn't control the frown that was making its way onto her face. That was until she heard you scrolling through TikToks at the table and suddenly felt a sense of relief that couldn't be explained.

She would continue to finish her mac and cheese and tried to hide her laugh from any funny TikTok sounds she heard from your phone. And tried her hardest to shutdown her curiosity whenever she heard your laugh. As soon as she finished making her bowl, she walked out of the kitchen not even glancing at you. She was too stubborn to realize that she hadn't once thought about her attack due to your presence in the kitchen.

Until now.

"That's why I trust her Tara," Sam reveals. "She notices things that I don't. I can't always be watching out for you. You need to have a bunch who have your back, and for that to happen you need to take a chance on people here and there."

"Just think about it. Just separate your idea of Y/n being Ghostface and the possibility that she can betray you. And ask yourself what kind of person is left standing in front you. And is that the type of person you want to take a chance on."

————

Two weeks have gone by since the group last saw each other, and since then you and Tara were able to do a lot of individual thinking. Today the group decided that they went too long without seeing each other and they all decided to go to bar in downtown Manhattan.

Everyone decided to meet at the Carpenter residence, and Tara hated to admit it, but she was excited to see you, but she also felt nervous at the thought of being around you.

You were the last to arrive, and you greeted all your friends with a smile. Tara was waiting with a smile for you to greet her like you always do, but it never happened.

You ignored her.

"Is everyone ready to go?" You say looking at everyone except Tara.

The shorter girl had to compose herself before anyone realized that she was bothered by your lack of acknowledgement. She didn't know how to feel, what in the world were you doing?

The group made their way to the subway in one piece, and the two Carpenter sisters were walking side by side while everyone else was a little ahead.

"What the fuck is Y/n doing?" Tara whisper yells to her sister.

"What do you mean?" Sam replies playing stupid.

"She's not even looking at me?" Tara admits, not caring at how childish she sounds. "Why isn't she paying attention to me?"

Sam laughs at what two weeks of not seeing you and some deep reflection has done to her sister. "I mean what do you expect, it's not fair for her to keep trying for someone who doesn't make the same effort. She's probably done trying." Despite her words, Sam didn't believe a thing she was saying, she wondered what the intentions behind your actions were, but the Carpenter knew it was nothing ill.

Tara makes a hmpf sound, and tries to act unbothered by her sister's words. But the idea of you not having your gaze on her worries her more than she would like to admit.

Meanwhile 20 paces in front the sisters you and the twins are having a interesting conversation of your own.

"I can't do this anymore!" You whine looking at Mindy.

"Girl, stand the fuck up, it's been 20 minutes since we left the house, can't you see that it's already working?"

Chad chimes in, "Honestly I agree with my sister for once, she'll be yours by the end of today."

"W-whoa I don't want her to be mine or anything," you blush. "She's gone through a lot, I just need her to tolerate me, you know?"

Mindy rolls her eyes but smiles, happy that Tara has someone patient like you in her life. "Yeah yeah Y/l/n, now walk faster, it's not like she can run and catch up."

Your jaw drops while Chad drops dead in laughter.

Everyone manages to get onto the same subway cart in one piece, and you realized how much harder it was going to be acting like you can't notice Tara in here. The subway was packed from one end to the other. And you just so happened to be standing next to the only available seat.

You glance at Tara only to see her already looking at you and you immediately look away. Trying to get Mindy's attention you some how try your best to mime to her that you want Tara to sit in the free seat. Though of course Mindy's horrible charade skills translate into real life and she ends up sitting in the seat herself.

You face palm at your friend, and gave up on trying to look out for Tara. But in that very moment you notice a man getting far too close to the girl than you would like. It was a crowded cart so proximity was a given, but this seemed deliberate on the stranger's part.

Acting without thinking, you shove the guy as casually as you can to the side, not realizing that it meant you are now face to face with Tara. Just as you were about to break and speak to her, the subway doors open at your stop.

Tara hated that the doors interrupted the words you were going to say to her, but was grateful that it got her attention off of you before you could notice the blush on her cheeks.

As everyone got off the subway, you find yourself straggling behind the group out of habit. Just as you attempt to quicken your pace, you feel a tug on your sleeve.

Tara looks up at you with her big eyes, and you don't know what to do. This is the first time the girl has looked at you without rolling her eyes or looking away immediately.

"I'm sorry," she mutters.

You didn't know what to say, and continue walking with her by your side, so you don't fall too far behind from your friends. "It's okay," you mutter back looking straight ahead.

You don't blame the girl for her behaviours. Her traumas manifested into something difficult and she was making an attempt to be better. That's all that mattered to you. And maybe you were just too weak for the girl that you would let anything slide, but you were fine with that too.

Tara smiles at you, happy that you weren't giving her a hard time. Happy that you understood what those two words she just told you encapsulates.

Suddenly she grabs you by your arm and holds it as you walk side by side.

Startled by her touch you look at her.

She smiles up at you, "It's easier for you to keep your eyes on me this way. No need for secret glances."

next chapter

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thousand-winters · 10 months ago

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Something I deeply enjoy about Saiki K is how much the friendships are highlighted.

I was thinking about Saiko specifically.

Because you have him introduced as the ridiculously rich kid that transferred to PK Academy exclusively so he could get Teruhashi to go out with him and become his future wife. Because she's the most beautiful girl in the world and all of that.

But the thing is, even if he doesn't quite give up on that after her rejection, since he's still thinking about it during the stranded island incident and during the class play, he doesn't actually seem to care much about that. More over, he doesn't seem to care particularly about her as a person. He's startruck by her, sure, as most men are, but aside from little comments about how he wants to be alone with her or kiss her or whatever, he doesn't even spend a lot of time around her?

And that's the fun thing, because once he gets properly integrated in the group, if you pay attention to every time it happens, whenever he's interacting with someone voluntarily, it's NOT Teruhashi he's talking to.

It's usually the Saiki-Nendo-Kaido-Kuboyasu group.

We know Saiko only knows how to communicate through his money because he has never been taught otherwise, and a lot of the time that comes out as him simply bragging to make others jealous when in truth he seems to want to be liked so bad.

And who's his usual target there? That little group.

It's "hey, have you noticed how amazing this super expensive thing I have is, unlike you peasants?", "ha, are you impressed by what I can do with my money?". It's always them he says these things to. He wants to be their friend SO badly.

Hell, he even did research on them to remodelate his goddamn mansion with things they would love??? He never did that for Teruhashi even though he was presumably trying to court her. But he went the extra mile for those four for literally no reason.

Saiko craves friendship so damn badly and it's so funny. He can say he's only there to marry Teruhashi all he wants, but when it comes to it, he pays more attention to those guys than he ever does to her. I feel like Teruhashi doesn't even feel annoyed by him pursuing her later on because he doesn't even make an effort since he doesn't actually care.

Saiko, you're actually so transparent.

#saiko metori #teruhashi kokomi #saiki kusuo #nendo riki #kaido shun #kuboyasu aren #tdlosk #saiki k

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unabashednightmarepizza · 1 month ago

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𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙇𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙑𝙤𝙞𝙙

Author Note: Hey... How yall doing? (anxious sweating). Okay, I know I have been pretty much absent for the past year or so, but I literally lost the ability and want to write so, I was just silently liking and reblogging a bunch fanfics, playing my silly video games and struggling with college here and there... Then, my Marvel fangirl era came back with the movie "Thunderbolts" and here I am.... With 8060 words for the FIRST chapter of a series... If anyone read my Moon Knight fic, it will be kind of similar to it but also not, with me adding a new perspective to the Void. I am assuming this to be not too long of a serie (if I keep the 8K word band going) but we will see! Hopefully, you guys will like it and my take on the cutie Bob!

Oh and... THUNDERBOLTS REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Warnings for the series: Self-deprecating thoughts, struggles (mental and physical), Entity dramas, trauma, death, a little bit of humor, free-therapy, childhood trauma, domestic abuse, torture, blood, gore, the Void and the Sentry (I think they are enough of a warning by alone)...

Tagging: @magikdarkholme

“Did you just say we need to go to... where?”

Bucky was sure his new teammates were either stupid or feigning stupidity.

Between Ghost’s erratic phasing fits, U.S. Agent’s unwavering faith in fists over brains, and whatever the hell Red Guardian called a plan to deal with the many problems the newly formed “New Avengers” had, Bucky had seen enough chaos. The Void wasn’t just another mission—this was Bob Reynolds. This was a walking time bomb with the potential to turn the world inside out if Sentry lost control again, as he called it.

As if he didn’t care about the man’s well-being and understood his pain of identity crisis, as if Bob wasn’t the new adopted member of their highly nonfunctional friend group that soon turned into a chaotic family.

And now, with the Thunderbolts half-functioning and Val refusing to listen, Bucky knew he needed real help. Not reckless, government-backed muscle. And absolutely no self-interested Val.

He needed her.

So, against every protocol and behind Valentina’s back, he found himself silently looking at the device you had generously given him before departing from the Earth. A golden globe with ancient runes of your people carved into it, small wings sprouting from the top of it as he found himself smiling after such a long time.

You truly were the Life itself, warming him up even if you weren’t there.

Asgard was different now, at least he believed it was—more grounded, more accessible although you kind of sticked to the traditional ways of your people—but still carried the strange, quiet hum of power underneath its cobblestone streets and tavern-laced ports. Their Queen was even stranger—regal and radiant, but unshakably human. She laughed like a thunderclap, she was messy and somehow addicted to any kind of junk food she could get her hands to and held herself like she bore galaxies in her chest.

Because she did.

She was Life itself, cloaked in mortal form, the entity who shook the entire universe and bared a trial you refused to tell to anyone so that you could revive your people and home back to life, eventually becoming the new Protector and Ruler of the Nine Realms.

And you also happened to be Bucky’s best friend. Odd pairing, sure. The former Winter Soldier and a literal cosmic embodiment. But your friendship had been forged in the strangest of fires—mutual survival, long silences, and shared understanding of what it meant to be the weapon someone else or thin had forged.

And his stupid yet naive childhood merged with your “teenage-hood”. As much as it was considered that when you didn’t get old, instead changed your form.

Everyone else saying something, as usual. Bucky hadn’t even finished explaining his plan before the room exploded into chaos.

Alexei and Ava was loudly berating each other “affectionately, Yelena was just humming to his plan with a dagger in her hand since she already knew you (despite the fact that she tried to kill you for what happened to Natasha, deeming you the guilty one, but eventually learning the truth). She hadn’t said a word to him directly since Bucky brought up going to New Asgard.

Not that he blamed her.

And then there was Walker. U.S. Agent had that expression again—like he was one word away from taking it personally as he sat on the couch widely, with an expression on the border of frustration, as if he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that there were Gods and Goddesses in real life. “So, let me get this straight. You want us to stand down while you go cozy up to some interstellar goddess?”

“She’s not some goddess,” Bucky bit out harshly, blue eyes as cold as steel as he stared at the blonde. “She’s the only one who can keep Bob from tearing himself or another city in half.”

“You sure she’s on our side?” Alexei asked gruffly as he chewed on yet another bar, one that was your favourite Bucky noticed. He didn’t blame the older Russian for his hesitance, after all, he and Yelena were the only ones who never your nature and how to talk to you (It wasn’t that hard or complicated, despite you being a cosmic entity. All you needed to easily cave in were some chocolate, some shiny jewelry and a good Cappuccino). But of course, they didn’t know that, and they didn’t encounter a Goddess or, well, the literal personification of Life, but hey, it didn’t seem like he was completely against the idea of going to you.

The same couldn’t be said for Ava and John, with the later one being more... aggressive at the prospect of such thing.

“She’s on my side,” Bucky said, sharp and final. He leant back on the couch with a silent groan, muscles screaming for one very hot bath. Maybe he could have one of those hot springs you had in Asgard. “And that’s enough.”

The silence that followed wasn’t exactly agreement, but it wasn’t outright rebellion either.

In Thunderbolts terms, that was practically a standing ovation.

“I repeat again: I said we need to go to the Asgard and seek help from the Queen if we want to help Bob. She is the only one who might know the Void.”

Walker scoffed from the corner, arms crossed. “Great. So the plan is we go knock on the front door of literal gods and ask for mental health advice? Sounds foolproof.”

Yelena popped a piece of gum into her mouth, lounging across the couch with her boots on the table. “I mean, better than your last plan of dealing with mental problems. What was it again? Run straight into a wall of bullets and hope for the adrenalin to do the work?”

Walker rolled his eyes. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“No,” Ghost said flatly, phasing halfway through the wall like she wanted to escape the conversation. “You were in the med bay for three days.”

Red Guardian grunted, tightening his gloves. “Bah! I like this plan. Finally, some honor! Gods, glory—maybe I get to fight a thunder beast! Reminds me of my prime!”

“You haven’t had a prime since the '80s,” Yelena said dryly without looking up, arms folded as she leaned against the fluffy couch.

“Yeah, well, I want to make the part with ‘might know’ highlighted! I ain’t going there!” Walker exclaimed once again on his seat, slamming a fist on the table like it would make his argument more valid. Both Ava and Yelena roller their eyes and even Alpine just stood there and hissed lowly and Bucky could swear she too rolled her eyes.

Bucky didn’t even look up, already fed up with all the loudness, as he got up for the kitchen and get a glass of water. “Why? Because she beat your ass up easily without moving an inch back in your jackass days?”

Yelena snorted. Ava straight-up wheezed.

Walker turned a shade of red that didn’t look healthy. “That was a long time ago. I was off my game.”

“Sure, man,” Yelena said with a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief. “She was literally braiding her hair while you were trying to throw a shield at her. I think she yawned.”

“Besides...” Bucky cut in before Walker and Yelena could start another verbal brawl that could escalate into a real one. “I already talked to her about it. Like a week ago.”

That made the room fall into a momentary silence.

Yelena’s brow lifted, the dagger stilling in her hand. “Wait. You already told her?” “Yeah.”

Alexei blinked from his spot next to the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, intrigued by such... silence from a Goddess that could wipe out the entire universe if she pleased. “Then what is she waiting for?”

“For Bob to be ready.”

No one answered immediately.

Even Walker stopped posturing.

Because that meant the Queen—Life, the one force that could oppose the Void without unraveling reality—wasn't going to interfere until Bob Reynolds, the man at the center of it all, was willing to face what was inside him.

“She said,” Bucky continued, voice clipped with a hint of guilt, “that she doesn’t overwrite people and their fates. She meets them. Even the broken ones. Especially the broken ones... That the Void isn’t just something you fight,” Bucky replied, his voice low. “It’s something Bob has to face—willingly. Or it’ll tear through him and everyone around him trying to claw its way out.”

Ghost reappeared halfway through the floor with a frown. “And we’re just supposed to sit on our hands while he falls apart?”

“No,” Bucky said, meeting her eyes. “We get him there. She’ll help. But only when he accepts it. For now, we keep him grounded. Keep him human.”

Alexei scratched at his beard. “So this is… therapy quest? With Norse gods?”

Yelena gave him a blank stare. “Everything’s a therapy quest with this team. None of us actually has great pasts anyways.”

Walker threw up his hands. “This is ridiculous. We’re not babysitters—we’re soldiers.”

“You’re right,” Bucky snapped, sharper than before as he sharply set the glass down. So hard that everyone was kind of curious how it didn’t break. “We are soldiers. So act like it. We don’t leave anyone behind, remember? Or does that only apply when it’s convenient for you?”

That shut Walker up, at least for the moment.

Ghost looked away. Yelena stopped humming.

Seemingly, everyone was retreated back to their minds to think about their next course of action or make sense of what Bucky meant by “She is on my side.”. How could a literal goddess be on the side of one mortal man? Well, not exactly mortal but still human... Aren’t the Goddesses and Gods supposed to be neutral?

Well, in most cases yes. But in Bucky’s case, he was aware that she made some exceptions for him even though she shouldn’t, and she never talked about the troubles she would get into because of that (others Gods were not happy you cared for humanity that much).

You never said much about the consequences, only wore that same quiet smile whenever Bucky questioned you. A smile that hid wars fought in secret skies, negotiations whispered behind divine veils, and sacrifices no mortal—or even semi-mortal—would ever be allowed to understand. But he saw the strain sometimes. In your eyes. In the way you would allow yourself to touch his face like he was both precious and fleeting and hug him.

As if you were desperate, craving that kind of connection

“She shouldn’t choose a side,” Steve would often say, especially after learning who you were and what you were capable of doing when he got out of the ice and it was your face he saw first. His voice would often turn somber, quiet, but firm whenever you and how much you sacrificed were mentioned. You didn’t see it that way, more like “taking care of two more little brothers who were unaware to the ways of world.

“That’s not how this works.”

He remembered the last time he saw you—really saw you, not in passing glimpses, not in dreams or between the flashes of battle from his time as the Winter Soldier. The stars had bent toward you like flowers to the sun, and your voice had been threaded with something desperate whenever he would remember your words in a hazy daze of the memory erasing HYDRA did to him. You told him to stay alive. Not to win. Not to save the world. Just—stay alive. As if that alone would be enough.

He had been through so much and as much as he can remember, and as far as others told him, you were mostly there. Even when he was in ice, even when he went berserk as the Soldier, you waited... Like you said many times, you didn’t intervene, you couldn’t for reasons you didn’t explain except “I did once... and It costed me a great price.”...

As a result, he never understood how people did not see the same kind and caring woman... But he also understood their look on you because once, after he got away from HYDRA, he was like them too. Though you didn’t care, that you abandoned him, that you took satisfaction at watching him struggle... Without knowing you were also dealing with your own struggles and... voids.

Bucky’s mind went back to the conversation you two had a week ago, inside his room, as he watched the team trying to decide on what to do with the new common room’s decoration. Although some people might have thought it to be a casual phone call, or him actually visiting Asgard physically... They forget the fact that you were a transcendent being who wasn’t bound to only one physical plane of existence. Someone who could easily get into the minds of people without them ever noticing, seeing the deepest secrets they hid away in their consciousness.

“James,” you said warmly, stepping down from the dais. After everything, it was nice seeing your best friend although he looked frazzled at being in your palace. He... didn’t remember visiting you. “I knew we both got old but you look far worse than I expected. Something is troubling you.” He turned. You weren’t dressed in royal robes today—just a long, dark tunic and loose braids, light dancing at her fingertips like fireflies. She always glowed subtly. Not from ego. From existence. And by some weird instinct as he looked into your expectant eyes, he understood you used your magic on him to seep into his mind. “I hate how you became more mysterious and unexpected after becoming the Ruler of Nine Realms, with your magical hands and all.” he chuckled under his breath as you slowly moved towards him, turning your body around so that instead of looking out the waterfalls you so adored of your homeland, you looked straight at him. A warm smile, and a loud laugh filled up his mind as he felt his tenseness and stress over the few months after the New York accident.

“I do not have magic only on my hands, friend. I am the magic... Besides, my mom was raised by witches and I was raised by her. What did you expect?” You let out a soft giggle that made him let out a relaxed sigh and take a step towards you. Your eyes shifted towards a more “I missed you” look as you took a good look at your best friend. His figure is broad, but not as imposing as it once was. His black tactical coat hangs heavy off his frame like armor worn too long. His vibranium arm glints faintly, muted under dreamlight, chipped in places where the plating has seen too many fights. His flesh arm—scarred and tense—hangs by his side, fingers twitching as if clenching onto ghosts he never quite managed to bury. His face tells the rest of the story. Unshaven. Tired. The lines around his mouth are deeper, not just from age, but from guilt that settled into his bones and made a home there. His hair, longer now, curls behind his ears in a disheveled way, like he stopped caring about appearances once the missions stopped being about redemption and started being about survival.

And his eyes—blue, once sharp with mischief—are dulled with exhaustion. The kind of tired that doesn’t come from sleepless nights, but from existing too long under the weight of things he was never meant to carry. He looks like a man always halfway between moving forward and waiting for the next blow. “ However, that magic cannot help you if you don’t stop brooding and explain your troubles. Like the good old days.” “Thanks. Got a Void problem. Figured Life might know what to do.” he shrugged his shoulders, accepting the drink you offered. That got your attention. “You’re talking about Bob Reynolds.” you hummed quietly. “Yeah. Sentry’s fraying again. The Thunderbolts think they can contain it. They can’t. I’ve seen what happens when he breaks.”

“He’s not fully gone yet. He’s still… trying. But it’s getting louder in him. And I don’t trust the team they put together to handle this. Hell, I don’t even trust me.” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t react. You just looked at him with a tilted head and a hard stare. “And you want me to intervene, think I can stop him?” The Queen's gaze turned hard, divine power flickering just beneath her skin. Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed. He didn’t look at her. Not fully. His gaze stayed just off her shoulder, like meeting her eyes might burn him. Or worse—like he didn’t think he deserved to. “I think you’re the only one who can match him. Light to his darkness. You’re not just a queen—you’re the counterweight. He’s the Void. You’re the Life. If we don’t end it now, there won’t be a later.” You looked up at him with a softness no one else ever received. Having lived with humans for many years throughout different times, you always though you understood their understanding and reasoning. But each and every time, much like now, proved you otherwise with their first instinct at the face of crisis was to...get rid of it. They called it “solving the problem from its root” but... was that really necessary? Huh, maybe you were turning out to be more human than you let on. “James. I don’t end people.” “You did once,” he reminded, voice low. “ With Thanos-”

“That was a mercy.” Your voice turned cold, glare harder than ever as the sun of Asgard dimmed fast for a second, only to reappear once more. But it didn’t change the suddenly cold and heavy atmosphere in the throne room as he took a slow breath. As if he was being drowned slowly... He knew how the name tasted bitter and your usually soft and understanding heart that would light up the way of the lost ones, much like him, would immediately grow cold and sharp. He cannot blame you for all the things you had to do because of that “eggplant” as you called him. “That thing didn’t want to exist anymore.” He swallowed hard. “What if Bob doesn’t either?” The silence stretched, not empty, but thrumming with power and grief. The silence was not the absence of sound as Bucky could still hear the people chattering outside, the waterfalls and birds, the ships cruising on the air and the water, but the presence of everything unsaid was thick like the air before a storm. It pressed into the skin, settled heavy in the chest, made every breath feel like inhaling from deep underwater. It hummed with power restrained, until you finally spoke. “That’s not your decision to make. Nor mine.”

“But if he asks, if he begs—” Bucky stepped forward, desperation flickering across his face, his metal hand curling tightly at his side. “You’ve seen what the Void does to him, then. He tears himself apart just trying to breathe, to control himself so that he doesn’t hurt others. Hell, he doesn’t even care about what would happen to him!” You walked past him, having circled around him as he explained his situation, eyes on the horizon, far beyond the gilded windows of the throne room and perhaps even beyond the world itself. Your figure, wrapped in flowing robes of deep indigo and gold-threaded silver, seemed carved from moonlight and silence, too regal to be disturbed by mere pleading. The air shifted in your wake, perfumed with soft notes of sandalwood and snow bloom. Each step you took down the polished obsidian stairs echoed like a pronouncement. “The Void feeds on despair, fear, erasure. It doesn’t kill you. It unravels you, rewrites you, until there’s nothing left to remember. That’s what he’s afraid of—not dying, but becoming nothing. Again.” you spoke out without looking at him, or else he would notice the shake of your hands... at the mention of a being that is not so different than you. You continued without a look at him.

“I have seen it,” you whispered. “And I’ve felt it. The way the Void slithers through his soul like ice, like teeth, like silence too loud to bear. I know.”

You came to a slow stop, robes pooling around your feet like rippling shadows. Only then did you glance back over your shoulder. Your gaze was level, piercing—not cruel, but ancient. Tired. Tired not in body, but in soul. The kind of fatigue that comes from watching too many people run headlong into the same fire, convinced their determination would keep them from burning. James’ breath caught as your gaze bored into his—fierce, mournful, determined. “But Bob Reynolds is still there. And until that fragment of him says he’s ready to go, I will not be the blade that ends him. I will not be the Queen who grants death when it is healing that is needed.” He blinked, as if trying to process your words through a fog. “But what if there’s no healing left for him?” he weakly says because he saw everything, every cry and scream after a particular nightmare. He’d seen the man curled in a corner of the darkened chambers, trembling with hands that could tear planets apart but now only clutched his own skull as if trying to hold himself together. Heard the hoarse cries, the guttural sobs that cracked like glass underfoot. The way he’d begged—not for salvation, but for silence. For stillness. For an end. Bucky had sat beside him once, blood on Bob’s fingertips—not from battle, but from scratching at the skin of his own arms, as though he could dig the Void out with his nails. And he had said nothing. Because what could he say to a broken man who feared the thing living inside him? Something that was him but also not? He understood that feeling, when he was too scared of the “Winter Soldier” appearing again and hurting random people... But in his despair, you and Wakanda had supported him through everything and he... he survived. When he thought he wouldn’t, that he would have to live with this time-bomb in him, you and Wakanda had healed him. So now, as he stood before you—his Queen, his best friend, mentor and savior, the only one he trusted to make the call—he wasn’t questioning your strength. He was afraid Bob Reynolds had none left to borrow. “Are you waiting for him to fall apart?” “No,” you said, turning back to him, heart softening as you took his hand between yours and squeezed... Before you hit the back of his head harshly.. “I’m waiting for him to face it. I won’t force that. Life doesn't conquer the Void, James. It reaches it. Offers a hand, not a sword.” He stared with a pained look on his face, hand idly rubbing his head because it hurted. He forgot how heavy your hand was, both naturally and because of fighting for such a long time with many weapons that he could name it...but it would take days to finish the list. “That might not be enough.” You sighed tiredly, quietly descending the final step, and now your voice took on the texture of velvet lined with iron . Oh, how you forgot James was a stubborn asshole.

“How are you so sure,” you began, voice edged with something sharper now, something tired and sharp as a blade honed too often, “that he would go berserk?” you approached the topic in a different way, hoping to make him see your reasoning. “Excuse me?”he replied, confusion and caution winding tightly in his voice. “You talk like he’s already gone. Like he’s a loaded gun just waiting to fire. But you never say why.” You stepped closer, the air around you suddenly colder, heavier—not with menace, but with the truth you were about to lay bare. “Why are you truly scared, James? And don’t give me the crap of being a hero thing, I am not buying it.” “So tell me, James. Is it because he’s dangerous? Or is it because you saw something in him… something you saw in yourself?” His lips parted slightly, but the words caught in his throat, as if the very truth he’d been dodging was suddenly too close to confront. He clenched his fists, the metal hand faintly shimmering in the dim light of the throne room. You studied him—his every muscle tensed, his gaze downcast, his entire being caught in the web of past battles and old scars. “You think you had a choice in the matter? That you chose to be turned into that weapon?” His jaw tightened, and he turned his head slightly, as if unwilling to meet your gaze. But the quiet challenge in your question lingered, pushing against the walls of his heart. “You were broken, James. Just like Bob.” Your words were soft but carried the weight of the years you had seen the agony of humans. “You were the monster once. But you didn’t give up. You didn’t let the darkness take you. Why are you so ready to assume that Bob’s beyond saving?” The silence that followed was thick, suffocating in its complexity. He could feel it—the raw truth in your words, pulling him into a realization he wasn’t ready to face. He wasn’t ready to see how closely he and Bob were bound by their pain, by the choices they never got to make, and the things they thought could never be fixed. And how it all changed with the subtle help of a certain Goddess he knew. “He deserves that chance, even if the world has long since given up on him. Even if he wants to-” “You think I don’t know that? I know. I just… I’m scared. I’m scared that if we let him keep going, he’ll turn into the thing he hates most. And if the Void—” “I have faced the Void,” your voice cut him in the middle as he widened his eyes, knitting his brows in confusion at the sudden noncholant look on your face, serene yet amused at the same time. Then, slowly, deliberately, you stepped closer. The ambient light flickered across your features, illuminating the regal fire behind your gaze. “You forget what I was before this throne, before the crown and the titles that make the universe and every inhabitant bow. I have held back stars from collapse, James. I’ve screamed into the abyss until it screamed back.” Asilent beat... Bucky held his breath with anxiety until... “ Less loudly, of course.” You giggled and soon his on-guard behavior evaporated, just like that. You were back to the friend he knew, all smiley, soft and understanding. He surely knew how worthy you were of your other title now that he witnessed your anger. “I will not let Bob Reynolds be swallowed without a fight. Not by the Void, and not by himself... But for that, I also need his help.” James looked down, pain etched across his features, guilt sharpening every line. “I just don’t want to lose anyone else,” he muttered. “Not to war, not to darkness… not to mercy.” Your hand cupped his cheek—warm, gentle again, your thumb brushed the faint stubble there, grounding him in the now. . “Then help me save him.” He leaned into your touch slightly. “Even if he doesn’t believe he’s worth saving?” You gave a bittersweet smile. “ When did humans ever believe in themselves?” You muttered to yourself amused as you gave a determined nod. “Believe for him… until he can.”

The door hissed open before him with a polite chime, one that somehow made the silence on the other side feel even heavier. Bob stepped into the Watchtower’s living room—barefoot, book still in hand, thumb tucked between worn pages like he’d meant to come back to it. The title was some obscure thing from the archives, philosophy soaked in poetry, too heavy for what little sleep he’d had. His shirt clung to him from where he’d curled into the armchair earlier, sweat-damp from another dream that didn’t belong to him.

His footsteps were soft against the polished composite flooring—quiet enough that neither of them noticed at first.

The room was dimly lit, walls aglow with that sterile white-blue of orbital tech, like a hospital made of stars. The glass panels looked out over Earth: whole, spinning, oblivious. For a second, he pretended he was too.

Bob hadn’t meant to listen. Not really. But they weren’t exactly subtle. And no one ever noticed when he was still on the doorway, after cleaning around the kitchen and drying the dishes, retreating back to his room with blinding light and a huge bookcase enough to cover the whole room.

Not even Bucky, who was observational most of the times.

So he stood quietly in the corner, slouched over himself anxiously as he played with the deep blue sweater he wore, a comfort item from that time, watching them argue for his sake like he wasn’t the reason half the room had stopped sleeping with both eyes closed. His hoodie was pulled low over his face, sleeves frayed from being twisted in his nervous grip. He looked like a man trying to vanish.

But inside?

Inside, he was screaming.

She’s waiting for Bob to be ready.

The words kept ringing in his head like a church bell cracked in half.

Ready?

He didn’t even know what that meant anymore. Was it being ready to fight? Ready to die? Or worse—ready to live again, knowing what he was?

Bob Reynolds hated himself.

Not in the way people say when they mess up or fall short—not in frustration. No. Bob’s hatred was quiet. Constant. Structural. Like his very existence was a mistake that kept happening. Every breath he took felt like a borrowed one. Every kind word someone gave him felt like it was meant for someone else entirely.

Because he knew what he was.

He was the guy who destroyed entire cities when he thought he was saving them. The one who couldn't remember if he killed people, only that he probably did. The man with god-tier power and the emotional stability of a wet paper bag.

And the worst part?

There was no evil mastermind to blame. No alien parasite. No secret chip in his neck. It was just... him.

The power. The sickness. The Void. It was all tangled together so tightly that he didn’t know where Bob ended and the monster began.

“You’re not a monster,” Bucky had told him once, eyes heavy with meaning, as they sat together in the common room after yet another nightmare Bob had. And for a split second, Bob believed it.

Until he blinked and saw a flash of black tendrils at the edge of his vision, heard that voice whispering in the back of his head again—

“₮ⱧɆɎ ĐØ₦’₮ ₥Ɇ₳₦ ł₮. ₮ⱧɆɎ ₣Ɇ₳Ɽ ɎØɄ. ₮ⱧɆɎ ₴ⱧØɄⱠĐ. ₮ⱧɆɎ ₴ⱧØɄⱠĐ.”

Bob flinched even when no one else heard it. That’s how deep it ran.

There were days Bob looked in the mirror and couldn’t tell who was blinking back—himself, or the Void. There were seconds he lost, hours he couldn’t remember, and when he tried to look at them, they laughed—he laughed—because the darkness didn’t just come from him. It was him. A tidal wave he had to pretend he could hold back with duct tape and breathing exercises.

And now she knew. Life herself.

She knew what he was.

And she still hadn’t come.

A part of him wanted to scream at her. What are you waiting for? Kill me, stop me—do something! He wanted her to end it already, erase the Void even if it may cost him his life, before he made another mistake, another killing spree.

But deeper—quieter—something else ached.

She wasn’t coming... But it wasn’t a fixed decision either. Not until he looked the Void in the eye and told it: You don’t own me.

He didn’t know if he could do that. He barely knew who he was when he wasn’t being erased from the inside out by the Void. Because Bob’s insecurity wasn’t about strength. He knew he could move a mountain or end a war. But could he sit in a room and just exist without fearing that someone would die because he lost control? Could he ever believe someone wasn’t flinching inside when they looked at him?

He didn't believe he deserved kindness. Didn’t believe he could be fixed. He was scared to be saved—because what if they saved him, and he broke again? He wanted to be angry. Embarrassed, at least. But instead, all he felt was—

Small.

He doesn’t know who this Queen, you, is. He doesn’t know if he should be afraid or not, or if you were an arrogant asshole but... But it seemed like you didn’t speak of him like a god or a weapon or a mistake...

You spoke like someone who still saw a man.

His fingers tightened around the book. The pages crinkled slightly beneath his palm. He didn’t deserve any of this. Not her conviction. Not Bucky’s loyalty. Certainly not the faith they so freely gave him, again and again, like he hadn’t ripped half the sky open just last month trying to keep himself together.

The silence in the room returned, and still, they hadn’t noticed him.

Part of him wanted to step forward. To say something. To apologize.

Another part wanted to disappear. Back into the dark, into solitude, where no one would see the trembling that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with guilt.

People needed him, but no one wanted to know or help him. Not really.

Except maybe Bucky... And the team. After what they had willingly gone through to pull him away from the clutches of the Void... And now, her—the Queen. Life incarnate. The one who should be most afraid of what he carried inside for the potential of destruction he carried towards all the things she created, she cared about.

But she wasn’t.

She waited.

And that terrified him even more.

Because if she still believed in him…

Then maybe he didn’t have the excuse to give up anymore.

And that was almost worse than the Void.

He squeezed his hands tighter, knuckles bone-white. The noise of the Thunderbolts’ arguing faded into the background static of his mind. He couldn’t help but wince, holding onto his head a bit to silence the hateful words the Void still whispered.

₮ⱧɆɎ’ⱠⱠ ₮ɄⱤ₦ Ø₦ ɎØɄ. ɎØɄ’ⱤɆ ₦Ø₮ ₩ØⱤ₮Ⱨ ₮ⱧɆ ฿ⱤɆ₳₮Ⱨ ł₮ ₮₳₭Ɇ₴ ₮Ø ₱ł₮Ɏ ɎØɄ. ⱠɆ₮ ₮ⱧɆ₥ ₮₳Ⱡ₭. ⱠɆ₮ ₮ⱧɆ₥ ₴₵Ɽ₳₥฿ⱠɆ ₮Ø ₴₳VɆ ɎØɄ. ɎØɄ ₭₦Ø₩ ⱧØ₩ ₮Ⱨł₴ Ɇ₦Đ₴. ɎØɄ ₳Ⱡ₩₳Ɏ₴ Ⱨ₳VɆ-

“You are not a mistake.”

The voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a command or a demand. It was warm. Steady. Somehow familiar.

Her.

Not here physically, but it echoed through him all the same—like a thread of sunlight winding through a storm cloud. And suddenly, he could breathe. Just barely. Bob exhaled, trembling. His fists loosened. The vice around his chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Lightened, like the weight was now being shared. All he could hear was his heartbeat and her voice, from days ago, echoing through him like a prayer he didn’t deserve:

Life doesn’t conquer the Void. It reaches it. Offers a hand, not a sword.

And he wanted—god, he wanted—to reach back.

But what if his hand wasn’t his anymore?

He winced, flinching as if struck. One hand reached up to grip his temple, fingertips pressing hard into his skin. A sharp pain bloomed behind his eyes—not from the voice, but from his own resistance to it. The Void didn’t scream anymore. It didn’t need to.

Now, it cooed. It whispered in familiar tones, seductive and patient. It came wearing his own voice, softened with mock pity, with poisoned comfort.

₳ⱧⱧ… Ⱡł₣Ɇ, ₴₮łⱠⱠ ₳ ₱Ɇ₴₭Ɏ ₩Ø₥₳₦, ₮Ⱨł₦₭ł₦₲ ₴ⱧɆ ₵₳₦ ₱ⱤØ₮Ɇ₵₮ ɎØɄ ₣ⱤØ₥ ₥Ɇ. ₳ĐØⱤ₳฿ⱠɆ…

Bob shut his eyes, swaying slightly in place. The pressure in his skull thrummed like an earthquake waiting to breach surface. He was so tired of this. Of holding back. Of pretending his breathing didn’t feel like trying to hold the tides with trembling hands.

His heart pounded against his ribs like it wanted to be out.

The whispers didn’t vanish. The Void never did. But for once, he didn’t want to listen to it.

He didn’t want to believe in what it whispered, how it corrupted him from the inside... He only wanted to listen to You.

Your words cut deeper than any blade. Not because they hurt—but because he wanted so desperately to believe them. To deserve them. Her voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It lived in the marrow of him now, threaded through the cracks, gentle as a lullaby and stubborn as a vow.

You... Not here in the room. Not yet. But present in a way the Void could never understand. You lingered in him like warmth in winter, refusing to be extinguished, no matter how cold the world got. Maybe that was what you stood for, what your existence meant for the universe.

Life doesn’t conquer the Void. It reaches it. Offers a hand, not a sword.

He remembered the way she’d said it. Not as a plea. Not as some dramatic declaration. But like a truth older than the stars. One you’d lived.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Bob wasn’t alone inside his own mind.

He blinked. Slowly sat upright from the crouching position he found himself just before reaching the door to the living room. His eyes—sunken, tired—lifted toward the team, still arguing, still fighting over what to do with him.

And for a heartbeat, he let himself wonder: What if I tried to believe her? Anyone?... Myself? Just once?

“…I—um…” It slipped out. Barely louder than the hum of the ceiling vent. Not a declaration. Not even a statement. More like a sound that escaped before he could smother it.

Silence fell like a guillotine. The arguing stopped.

Ava froze mid-gesture. Yelena, leaning back in her chair, tilted her head slightly, eyes worried at the obvious wincing expression of his face was still apparent. Even Bucky stilled, his expression sharpening—not with judgment, but attention.

Bob shrank in on himself slightly, shoulders tensing as if expecting a blow. He didn’t look at anyone. Just stared down at the floor, fingers twitching around the hem of his sleeve.

“…I heard what she said,” he murmured, almost to himself. “About… being ready.”

Silence stretched. It made the air feel thick. “I don’t know what that means. Not really,” he went on, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I—I don’t feel ready. I don’t even feel real half the time. Like I’m just… holding space until the bad part wakes up again.”

His chest hitched with the start of a breath he didn’t want to finish. He dug his nails into his palms. No one moved. The air was heavy, like the room itself was holding its breath.

“I’m scared of what’s in me. Scared of me.” His voice shook now, just a little, like it was something fragile being held too tightly. He couldn’t help but shake a bit, or maybe it was the tower itself, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was overwhelmed and that there was a small quake on where he stood

“Bob, you don’t have to-” Bucky started, feeling a bit guilty that he didn’t first explain it to him when they were alone. He knew how the team could be so reckless and loud when it came to secrets or a secret plan. Hell, even Val might have heard at this point and he wouldn’t know. However, considering the head space Bob was in most of the days, he cared about his...friend, as reluctant as he was to call him, and his well-being, more than a bitch who uses anything and anyone for her benefit.

“N-No... I need to let it out, I need to speak.” It was a plea, it almost sounded like a plea by how breathless and pained it left Bob. So much so that even John had lowered his guards and listened to him with a complex look on his face. Understanding. Apprehension. Confusion. Care.

After Bucky’s nod of approval, Bob took a deep breath, put his book down on the table awkwardly and looked at his friends, the friends he was going to explain the dark side of him for the first time.

“Every time I think maybe I can try again, I hear it. Him. The Void. It tells me all the ways I’ll fail. All the ways I’ll hurt people again. And part of me… starts to believe it.”

His hands dropped from his sleeves and curled into fists on his knees. White-knuckled.

“But I heard her. Just now. In my head. And it felt… lighter. Not fixed. Just… not so loud.” he gave a small smile to himself, lips curling lopsidedly as he lifted his head and gave a determined no to his friends who were listening to him.

“She said I wasn’t a mistake. And for a second—just a second—it felt like I could breathe.”

His voice faltered for a moment, but he didn’t stop this time. He took a step forward the team, his team, his friends... The ones who willingly went into the Void despite knowing they would see their darkest fears, just to save him.

He owed this much to them.

“I didn’t even know I wanted to breathe,” he chuckled humorlessly, eyes still downcast, lashes heavy with something unspoken as he threw his arms carelessly, as if what he is saying didn’t matter too much. “I’ve been holding everything in for so long—like if I let even a little of it out, it’d swallow me. Swallow all of you.”

Ironıc, isn’t it? For a being who could show the biggest fears a person might have to that same person, he was afraid to reveal his own, to the only people that mattered to him know. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen weak, or bother them when they all had their troubles to deal with, besides the fact that he might have traumatized them quite badly. His breath hitched, and he rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye—not crying, not really, but too close for comfort. He laughed, but it was broken, breathless. More of a release than a sound of humor. “It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. One sentence from a goddess and suddenly I think maybe I’m not cursed? Or maybe it wasn’t even her, maybe my fucked up m-mind is making u-up things...” he waved his hand dismissively as if he was speaking nonsense but still risked a glance up. Not at all of them. Just Bucky. The one who had gone to her. The one who hadn’t given up.

Bucky smiled at him brotherly, nodding at him. “It’s not stupid... She does that sometimes.”

“I think…” He faltered again after a smile, swallowing hard. “I think I want to try. If… if someone shows me how.”

He looked up again. Not just at Bucky this time. At all of them.

The room didn’t erupt. No one clapped or consoled him. But no one looked away, either. Ava, whose guarded stance had softened into something like protective stillness.Yelena, who now leaned forward, fingers laced together, eyes watching him like he wasn’t a threat, but a person. Even John—arms slack, frown etched deeper—not cold or dismissive, but present. Listening.

“I’m not asking for you to fix me. I don’t think anyone can.” Bob’s voice dropped lower. “But I think… if I have to carry this… I don’t want to do it alone anymore.”

His shoulders trembled, and his small, self-effacing smile flickered back. The kind someone makes when they’re afraid of what comes next.

“I think that’s what she meant. When she said I had to be ready.”

Then, softer, almost like he was testing the words in his mouth for the first time in years-

“I think I am.”

And for once, Bob didn’t feel like a monster being studied... as his friends smiled at him, all of them carrying their own way of genuine care for him as he found himself doing the same, releasing the breath he was holding. That was their way of silently encouraging him, a silent gesture of “You are not alone.”...

He felt like a man, asking for help... That was when he heard it.

Beep.

Soft. Sharp. Out of place.

Bucky’s brow furrowed.

Beep-beep.

The sound was coming from his pocket. Mechanical, almost crystalline. Faintly melodic. Everyone turned toward him as he reached in, fingers closing around the cool, unfamiliar weight of the device—the one the Queen had given him when they last spoke. The one she said to use only when the time was right.

When he was ready.

He drew it out slowly.

A small disc, no larger than his palm, etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly beneath the surface. It had been inert for days—dull, cold, unresponsive. But now it pulsed with light, soft and golden, like the first break of dawn and the little wings sprouting from it now fluttering, creating a glowing halo. Her insignia—a sigil shaped like a blooming star cradled by twin arcs—glowed at its center.

It was responding.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat. The glowing light from the device reflected off the metal around the room, casting soft golden halos that danced across his face and the floor—but his eyes stayed locked on it. Unblinking. Disbelieving. Like it wasn’t real.

“It’s her,” Bucky said, his voice quiet with awe, laced with certainty. “She knows.”

The glow intensified for a moment, then dimmed to a steady rhythm—heartbeat-like. Not urgent. Not demanding.

Just… ready.

The device warmed in Bucky’s hand, and a voice—not a full message, but a feeling—brushed against his thoughts. Gentle. Reassuring. Her voice, even if it didn’t speak words, rang inside his mind.

He is ready. And I am waiting.

The rest of the Thunderbolts didn’t speak, but the shift in the room was palpable. Yelena crossed her arms with a soft exhale—half scoff, half smile. It was the kind of smile that didn't quite reach her eyes—a guarded, skeptical expression she wore whenever things felt too strange for her liking.

“Of course she’s watching. Creepy glowing Queen of the cosmos…” But the words were hollow, and Yelena could feel it. She didn’t want to admit it, but there was something undeniably… comforting about the idea of the Queen watching and the device starting to activate when Bob finally explained his thoughts to them. Something that made her feel less alone in this chaos, even if she couldn’t bring herself to fully accept it...because of the past.

The past of her, Natasha...and the so-called Life that didn’t do anything to save her sister, despite being close friends.

Ava stepped back slightly, eyes narrowing at the device like it might explode. “Are we seriously going to Asgard right now?”

John just rubbed a hand across his jaw, glancing from Bucky to Bob, then back to the still-glowing disc. “Guess the gods are calling.”

“Well,” she said with a small shrug, trying to reclaim some of her usual nonchalance, as he glanced at Bob. “if she’s waiting for you, then I guess it’s your call. But don’t expect me to be all warm and fuzzy about it.” She shot a wry smile at him, as if to soften the edges of her words. “I’m not exactly a fan of gods popping in to solve my problems.”

Bob continued to stare at it, wide-eyed. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Bucky stood and turned toward him, still holding the device as it pulsed between his fingers like a living thing.

“You said you wanted someone to show you how,” he said gently. “She’s the only one who can. And I think she’s been waiting for this moment longer than either of us knew.”

The device glowed once more—brighter now. Not as a warning.

As a doorway.

#marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x y/n #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds imagine #mcu sentry #mcu sentry x reader #mcu void #asgard #mcu asgard

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simpee9000 · 10 months ago

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I love your “not just friends” series🥹 im obsessed! Im hoping to see more I love it soooooooooooo muchhhh!!!!!!! Even telling my friends to read it

But I saw a bakugo headcanon by another anon about him having a crush which I wanna add a spin on, what if he rejected this said crush back in middle school but developed feelings after xD I find it funny

Thank you !!! I'm glad you enjoy it so much!

And that is literally Katsuki Bakugo, can't see him not doing it tbh. (This was also a lot longer then I planned for it to be- I just started typing and here we are- 1k)

He isn't confused about a lot of things in life but his feelings definitely stump him. He tries to analyze other people and how they react to people, but the dots just don't connect. He hears people rave on and on about how cute their crush is, but he just doesn't get it.

It's not that he hasn't been introduced to it either. I mean, it's middle school. Everyone is crazy about dating someone even if it's just to hold their stupid hand. Bakugo didn't get it, he honestly didn't want to get it. Sure he wanted to understand it, but only so he could know a weakness or some shit. He didn't want the gushy feelings or anything such.

Rejecting girl after girl was normal for him, people just loved how great he was. But after the first year of middle school that stopped. Mainly because of how rudely he rejected every girl in the past, but also because of you.

You got extremely close with him rather quickly, working your way into his life and friend groups. It was rare to see you away from each other.

Yet when you confessed to him in your last year of middle school, he stood still. It was the only confession he hesitated on. And while you swayed on your feet, anxious for a reply, he tried to cough up any words possible.

But the only ones that came out were. "You're not special."

In the most blunt way possible, he crushed your dreams. With the way he was looking at you, it was like he couldn't fathom the thought that you thought you were good enough for him, different than all the other girls. So you choked up any spiteful things you wanted to say and nodded before walking off.

He didn't necessarily like you then, but the thought didn't seems gross. So when he watched you walk away, he shrugged it off. You'd talk to him tomorrow definitely.

When tomorrow came and went, he was waiting for you to show up by his side at any second. But of course, you never did. You waited a day before showing up to class, but when you did you stuck near your other friends.

It stayed that way too. You only nodded at him after you finished middle school, a small final goodbye.

So it was rather unfortunate that one of your friends happened to be Izuku. It was a hard-built friendship, but he's very forgiving.

You came and visited the dorms often, encouraged by his mother to help him get by easier.

Bakugo hated it, you never even looked his way.

When he googled his feelings he didn't want to believe the words typed on his screen. It was all saying he was jealous. He'd never been jealous of anything, especially nothing Deku had.

Eventually, Kirishima pointed it out, commenting on the glare he was giving Midoriya. He also called him out the next day, when he kept glaring despite you not being there.

The day he cracked was after he fought Deku, after being yelled out by Aizawa he and Deku were told to wait.

Bakugo mentioned your name in a mumble at first before Deku questioned it. "She like you or some shit?"

"What?!"

"You fuckin' heard me," he spat back.

"No!" Deku scrambled for a reason. He knew you had a crush on Bakugo before, but you haven't mentioned it in a while, "Do you?"

"Do I like you?!"

"NO! HER!"

Bakugo's aggression faded as he thought. Everyone was saying that. Kirishima, his dad, and now Deku. He gave a small shrug because he was unsure.

"She still asks about you," Deku decided to say, rather than poke the bear.

"Hm."

"Wanting to know if you're okay. After the sludge, and after.. well you know," Deku mumbled.

The door opened before anything else could be said, but even if it didn't, they both knew the conversation was over.

Feeling the commonly named butterflies in his stomach, at just the thought of you thinking of him still, was odd. It was an entirely new feeling. After googling, once again, he came to terms with the fact that he finally felt all the gushy feelings that everyone else got in middle school. The ones you used to have for him, hopefully still do.

He still waited a year to act on his conclusion first. But he still slowly tried to weave his way back into your life. Choosing to sit next to you when you visited, to othering you the remote.

Everything was without words for a while. Almost a year in he was forced to talk to you often. All conversations being awkward and strained.

Confessing was a different story, it was the last day you could visit before it was officially summer break before the second year. Everyone was all sat around watching TV, people leaving before they got too tired. Surprisingly, Bakugo and you were the last people in the living room. He didn't want to miss a second of your presence because he knew he couldn't see you during summer. He was so glad Aizawa let you stay late.

His head snapped away from the TV when you stretched to stand, silently grabbing your stuff.

"What are you doing?" he spoke before thinking.

You looked stunned, he never talked to you without you talking first, "It's late, I should go. Plus is it not past your bedtime?"

He glared at your joke before looking at the clock. It was 2:54a.m, you asked him out at 2:54 p.m in middle school.

"Do you still?"

"What?" you switched your weight onto one foot, crossing your arms confused.

"In middle school," he sighed, "do you still?"

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Have feelings and shit."

He still wasn't looking at you, but out of the corner of his eyes, he could see how you froze.

"I don't know how that's relevant," you huffed, embarrassed and annoyed that he'd be so cruel to bring up the rejection again.

"I do."

"Do what? Know how it's relevent? Of course you do, it's your brain-"

"Have feelings and shit," he mumbled, crossing his arms at how irated you sounded. He was finally making his move and you seemed pissed as hell.

You barked out a laugh, muffling it with your own hand, "You can't think I'm that stupid, right?"

"I'm being serious," he looked at you straight on for the first time. He was always easiest to read when you could see his eyes, and he looked nervous. Out of all the emotions you've seen on him, this wasn't one.

"Oh."

He sighed and looked down, "Don't gotta say anything, you can spend the night in the common room. No one will care," he pushed himself off the couch, turning to leave.

"Bakugo," you called out softly.

"Hm?"

"I might," your voice was shaky, "but I need to think about it. Know that you're not fucking with me or something."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. Take your time. You have my number."

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loveless-arobee · 9 months ago

Text

My main gripe with the posts that are like "love is love includes platonic/familial/queerplatonic/etc. love" is ofc that they still fully ignore and exclude loveless people.

But what is also quite noticeable is that they also never mention sexual love. Because, it seems, in one stance about love (beside the "everybody loves"), a lot of aspecs still agree with society: that sexual love either just straight-up doesn’t exist, or that it’s inherently bad and abusive (that loving someone sexually without romance is abuse, "only using them for sex" etc.)

And on the other hand you also have aspecs acting like, on a societal level, sexual love is seen as equal to romantic love (with phrasing such as "love that isn’t romantic or sexual is devalued by society"), as if romanceless sexual love isn’t seen as basically the worst thing ever.

While I don’t experience love per se, the only type of love I can relate to even remotely is specifically sexual love. I care a lot for people I’m sexually attracted to, and sex is very important to me overall. And let me tell you, me expressing interest in a purely sexual relationship, no matter if I’d label my feelings as love or anything similar, are not ever treated any better than friendships or platonic relationships are.

I’m demonised to hell and back from queer people and non-queer allies and queerphobes all the same for my feelings and opinions on sex. Sex is seen as something that should only happen in very specific situations, and only then is it "good"; any other type of sex is "bad"; it’s just the definition that varies slightly between those groups—and I fit none of their definitions for "good" sex. No one sees sexual love without romance as a positive thing, least of all something equal to romance. (And especially not sexual intimacy and closeness without love and romance (or friendship, in slightly more progressive views, but that’s rare tbh))

Its just very noticeable that the majority of queer people, and between those especially aspecs because they do talk about non-romantic love the most, still don’t see sexual love as something that could just exist. It’s very noticeable when there’s hundreds of posts broadening the definition of love to include literally everything but specifically sexual love. Endless lists about what love is in non-romantic ways, and it’s glaringly obvious that people just do not believe anyone could care for someone they "just" want to fuck, "just" have a sexual relationship with, without wanting to be labelled as friends or anything similar even when they do things other see as friendship because they cannot grasp that people can care for their sexual partners even without having feelings for them that aren’t sexual.

Just still seems very sex-negative to limit sex to be something that either happens between people in a different kind of relationship (usually romantic, but again, some do agree you can have sex with friends, too), or something emotionless between strangers who then never interact with each other again (which is also most of the time treated as a bad thing which should stop).

Point is: Maybe question why you exclude sexual love specifically from your post about non-romantic love. (And at the same time, also stop acting like every person must experience some type of love)

#already made a post like this once #but I think I could sort my thoughts a bit better now #aromantic #aro #AlloAro #AroAllo #loveless #loveless aro

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hueseok · 8 months ago

Text

( 01. ) EASY MONEY, EASY LOVE.

you and namjoon have been married for five years.

despite being strangers who solely exchanged wedding vows to trick his filthy rich family into giving him his inheritance, being part of this scheme is surprisingly easy. he’s out of the country most of the time, you’re being compensated for being a model wife, and there are only a few things you two have to to do in order to keep up with the whole guise of being a happy married couple.

with less than three months to go until you get divorced, namjoon comes back from a business trip and stays with you at your shared house, waiting until d-day with the aim of sending off your odd friendship with a proper farewell. but it’s weird, because just when things are supposed to be easiest—that’s when everything is suddenly becoming complicated, and the two of you realized once again that there really is no such thing as easy money (or easy love).

pairing: namjoon x reader

word count: 3.3k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, angst, marriage of convenience au, strangers to friends to lovers au, dash of fake dating au, and they were housemates au???? | ft. chaebol!namjoon + travel photographer!namjoon; office worker!reader

warning/s: swearing, mentions of a sickness, mommy issues, unsupportive family, depictions of loneliness / sadness, character death (no major characters though!), mentions of falling of a cliff bc of clumsiness lmao (nobody dies dw)

[ chaptex index. ]

EPISODE 01. the one with the emergency !

you shouldn’t have been too confident. if only you’ve been more humble and less greedy during your hike earlier with your workmates for the bi-annual team building event, you wouldn’t have literally fallen off the side of the cliff and ended up spraining your ankle pretty bad.

what were you thinking, honestly? you’ve never been an active person ever in your life. you hated cardio, you hated sweating, you hated waking up early in the morning to do exercise — yet for some reason, you were pumped for the activity that was scheduled for today.

it’s the reason why as you were trudging along the trail with your co-workers, yapping and laughing loudly with a close colleague, you didn’t notice that a particularly huge rock on your way set you off balance and caused you to sway to your right, plummeting over the ridge with a loud yelp.

it’s a good thing that there were paramedics stationed at the base of the mountain where all of you were trekking on, perhaps anticipating for an incident like yours to come along that’ll have them doing their duty.

as soon as your team leader used the walkie-talkie given to your group to call them for their help, there were four people with bright orange uniforms aiding you, checking your condition and placing you on a stretcher before carrying you to the monorail where you’ll be transported back down.

haein, your said close colleague, accompanied you as they brought you to the infirmary.

“were you possessed by an athletic ghost?” she asks once the doctor finished treating your sprained ankle, now advising you to get a bit of rest. “what made you think it was smart to walk too fast? you must have been crazy.”

“i must have,” you say, laughing because you rather laugh than complain about the pain that you’re feeling. it’s subsiding at the moment — thankfully — but you can only imagine what the next few days are going to be for you due to the injury. “god, i’m happy though that i didn’t get to roll all the way. if that happened, i would have suffered a greater fall and then i’d be on the news.”

“yeah. you’d be a legend to the company too. we’d make an altar in your cubicle for a good few months.”

“i’d be the story that hiking guides would share to the hikers to scare them into being careful.”

“we’d pay tribute to you at every christmas party. we’d make a slideshow and present that during the whole event.”

“really?”

“of course. i’d be in charge of making the powerpoint even.”

you stare at her, haein staring back, and then the both of you burst out laughing. you’re grateful that she volunteered to be with you when the paramedics declared that they needed to bring you down — although in the back of your head, you do think she’s just being a good friend as an excuse to not walk her way back to the ground with the rest later on after they reach the top and enjoy the magnificent view.

“by the way,” she takes a seat on the chair beside the bed you’re situated in, “someone named kim namjoon is going to pick you up and drive you home.”

the second his name tumbles out of her lips, you’re snapping your head towards her, shocked. “what?”

“when you passed out a bit after the fall, i got your phone and did the thing to make it call your emergency contact. he’s the one who answered.”

“namjoon answered?”

“yup.”

“but i… i don’t remember making him my emergency contact.”

“well, like i said, he’s the one who answered.” she shrugs. “why? is he an ex or something?”

you press your lips together, suddenly panicking at the thought of namjoon arriving here.

there’s nothing wrong with namjoon, really. he’s a pleasing person to have around: genuine, kind, and full of profound thoughts that you can’t help but hang onto every word he says.

however, as haein made evident, no one knows about your relationship with him and true nature of it — and you’ve done everything you can in the past year and a half since joining the company to keep it that way, deeming it unnecessary to disclose the fact that kim namjoon is your husband when the both of you aren’t bound to stay married forever.

to you, he’s just a ridiculously rich man who needed to get married for at least five years in order to get the full amount of his inheritance from his grandmother.

to him, you’re just a middle class woman who needed money to pay for her sister’s leukemia treatments, introduced together by a mutual friend who knew that both of you can benefit from each other’s situations.

in other words, your marriage with him isn’t technically real. and it’s why you rather not let anyone in your workplace know that he’s your husband, especially since you’ve managed to keep a low profile about it all these months. you don’t want to give your officemates a reason to gossip about you in the present time or when you divorce namjoon — the latter frankly scheduled to happen in less than three months from now.

****

namjoon arrives an hour later.

you take notice of him immediately while haein’s babbling about the book she recently read, recognizing him as the tall man who enters the small clinic.

you watch as he goes to the desk to talk to the staff waiting there, following his figure as the latter points to where your bed is. namjoon promptly turns to your direction then, your gazes meeting before his eyes focus on your sprained ankle, expression contorting in a mix of confusion and disappointment.

beside you, haein taps your arm, noticing namjoon’s arrival as well. “is that…?”

you swallow hard. “yeah, that’s him.”

“holy shit.” she takes a dramatic pause. “he’s hot.”

“don’t —” you grit your teeth. “don’t say that. it’s weird.”

“why? i have eyes — i’m just saying what i see.”

“yeah, but —”

“are you weirded out because he’s a relative? like your brother?” haein cuts you off. “wait, you mentioned before that you have a sibling. is that him?”

“he’s not a sibling.”

“then who —”

namjoon stops on the foot of your bed, causing haein to shut up now that he’s within earshot. he’s still staring at your ankle, like it inflated to twice its original size, and you actually don’t know what to say.

although you’ve developed a close friendship over the years of this sham marriage, you always seem to restart whenever he returns from a business trip of his — and it’s only been a couple of days since his return to south korea, having just come back from spain for his latest project.

it’s worth mentioning too that you do feel strange having an audience like haein around that renders you clueless on how to act.

he lets out a slow whistle, crossing his arms. “and you say i’m clumsy.”

you huff out a chuckle, namjoon grinning that releases the charm of his dimples.

“uh, i’m haein,” your friend stands up from her seat and extends a hand out, obviously enthralled by how handsome he is. “i’m the one who called you using ____’s phone. namjoon, isn’t it?”

namjoon shakes her hand. “oh, yes. it’s nice to meet you.”

“wow. you have a very tight grip.”

“haein,” you scold, slapping her wrist that causes their handshake to cease. if it isn’t apparent enough, haein doesn’t have a filter nor cares enough to stop saying the first thing that comes to her mind. “stop being weird.”

she turns to you. “i’m not being weird. i’m complimenting him.”

“how is commenting how tight his grip is a compliment?” you demand.

“it’s a compliment because i’m making it clear that i find him strong,” she explains, focusing on namjoon again. “sorry. do you feel offended by what i said?”

he appears amused. “not really.”

“see?” haein tells you.

you’re about to quip back a reply when she beats you to it.

“anyways,” she says and namjoon stifles a laugh, “if you don’t mind me asking, how are you and ____ related?”

at the question, you send him a signal with your eyes, asking him not to tell the truth, regardless if that’s wrong of you to do so. one of the things you had to keep in mind upon agreeing with this arrangement is that neither of you should ever deny the marriage whatsoever, a precautionary measure because you two were that paranoid that the news might reach namjoon’s parents.

from the looks of it, despite namjoon understanding where you’re getting at as you give him the most bizarre expressions, he does the opposite (perhaps mainly due to what was explained above), resulting into you hanging your head low, waiting how haein will react at the revelation that will be served on her plate.

“i’m her husband actually,” namjoon says casually.

haein cackles out loud. “husband?” she repeats. “that’s really funny — you’re a funny guy. but seriously, how do you two know each other?”

he raises an eyebrow. “i’m not joking.”

“sure you are. this girl right here isn’t married.” she does a show of holding you in an affectionate headlock. “she doesn’t even have a boyfriend.”

“did she tell you that?” he’s teasing, glancing at you for some sort of confirmation.

haein averts her attention to you.

you look at them, switching from namjoon to haein to namjoon and back to haein.

“i mean… you never asked, and i never said i was single,” you tell haein, shrugging and acting as nonchalant as ever.

it’s half the truth, ‘cause as far as you’re concerned, you’ve been diligent in always wearing your wedding and engagement ring. you even make it a point not to appear interested in any offers of blind dates or group dates to ever imply that you’re single as well.

she gawks at you, like she’s waiting for you to take back what you said. “are you being for real right now?”

“i am.”

“if this is some elaborate prank —”

“it’s not a prank,” you say.

there’s silence, and then she practically screams.

“YOU’RE MARRIED?” haein bellows, attracting everybody’s attention inside the infirmary. “we’ve known each other for more than a year and only now do i discover that you’re married?”

before she can berate you and force you to tell her your entire relationship history, namjoon’s asking for your bag and helping you sit up, aiming to lead you to the car waiting outside.

haein almost stops him, declaring with conviction that she literally can’t wait until the next office day to get the full scoop, but he kindly reiterates what the ER doctor he spoke with earlier said, insisting that he ought to bring you home as soon as possible so you can get the rest that you need after over exerting your body for today’s hike.

“everything. you need to tell me everything on monday,” she says when namjoon goes out for a minute to deliver your bag first to the vehicle. she’s giddy and jumpy and very hyper about what you can guess is because of her latest discovery. “also, i’m sorry about calling your husband hot earlier. i wouldn’t have done so if i knew.”

you grin, appreciating the fact that she felt the need to apologize for that. “it’s no biggie. you didn’t know.”

“yeah, which you really should apologize about.”

“i’m sorry.” your grin only stretches wider. “i’ll buy you a matcha latte on monday to make up for it.”

her face lights up.

you share your farewells as namjoon returns, namjoon saying goodbye to haein too. she leaves first, remembering that she needs to inform the rest of your co-workers that you’re fine and headed home, and once you and your husband are alone, he takes a good look at you again.

“should i carry you?” he asks.

you blink at him. he may be reliable, but he is also extremely clumsy. “you’re not asking the right questions, joon.”

“unbelievable.” he laughs. “you can really be cruel sometimes, you know?”

“i just want to be safe.” you further tease.

“then should i get a wheelchair?”

“no wheelchair please. i think i can walk to the car just fine.” you begin standing up.

“you sure?” he doesn’t even let you answer that, his hand just naturally goes to support your elbow. “you might fall.”

you pause, calculating how many steps it’s going to take until you reach your destination.

you’re fine, really. your good foot is perfectly walkable and you’re convinced it can take the burden of not having its pair in ample condition. however, you might need to hold onto namjoon for you not to fall halfway like he already stated, and you’re not really keen on being that close to him no matter how amazing his cologne smells even a few inches away.

“a wheelchair would be ideal,” you say.

namjoon chuckles, nodding and getting it with the assistance of a staff member.

in minutes, you’re on the passenger seat and he’s climbing on the other side.

you don’t expect it but you’re relieved at the thought of coming home earlier than planned. though you’ve conditioned yourself to enjoy this team building and take this time to get into camping, you were horrified when you learned that there wouldn’t be any shower rooms or portable toilets at least at the area that you’re heading at after the hike, this retreat meant to give each one of you the raw camping experience.

come to think of it, perhaps it was your subconscious that prompted you to inflict this accident on yourself in order to avoid shitting on the ground in case your stomach hurts.

“comfortable?” namjoon glances at you. “you can recline the chair if you want to sleep.”

“oh, okay. thanks.” you smile.

he smiles back, starting the engine.

you subtly watch him while he does that, admiring how he seems so adept in driving now compared to when you first met him. you remember his reluctance in the past to drive due to his fear of messing up, yet he managed to drive for approximately two hours in most likely gravelly roads to get where you are.

“thanks too for coming here, joon. i hope i didn’t bother you. honestly, i don’t even remember putting you as my emergency contact,” you sheepishly add.

“no problem, and i think hoseok did,” he says. “i remember him mentioning that i should put you as mine before.”

hoseok is the mutual friend that introduced you both together when namjoon was still trying to find a fake wife to obtain the full amount of his inheritance in five years time. he was aware of namjoon’s ploy and knew that you were in need of money during that year as well — and so putting two and two together, he set up a ‘date slash chemistry test’ between you and namjoon and reckoned that you could be great help to one another regarding your respective needs.

“that makes sense. i just don’t know how he did that without my knowledge.”

“well, nothing’s been impossible for hobi, so…”

you agree with a snort.

“by the way, i should mention this before you doze off,” namjoon abruptly halts just when he was beginning to drive off, “mom’s inviting us to dinner this weekend. she heard that i was back in the country and wanted to see how i am.”

you gradually digest that information, a constipated look already appearing on your face. “okay. is everyone going to be there?”

“yes, based on our last conversation.”

“should i be prepared for anything at all?”

he seems to find the inquiry funny. “no. just the usual.”

“meaning i should block off every passive aggressive comment your mom makes about either my choice of clothes and social status, right?”

“pretty much, yeah.”

you let out a groan.

“i’m sorry.” the dimples make a recurrence. “i would have declined her request but she wouldn’t stop pestering me about it.”

“god, i just really don’t like your mom, joon.” you say. “or your dad. or your older brother. i don’t like everyone, basically — except your pet dog, hiro. no offense.”

“that’s fine. i don’t like them either.” he shrugs, carrying on driving then now that the news have been shared. “plus, you know i’m on your team. i’d defend your honor to death.”

“of course. it’s what makes attending these things tolerable.”

“well, if it makes you feel better, this might be the last family function you’d have to attend.”

you raise your eyebrows, recalling the reason why. “woah, shit, you’re right.”

in less than three months, you’re getting divorced and namjoon’s getting even more money than he already has.

in less than three months, he’s going to share some of the portion of what’s left of his inheritance and it’ll be the last time you’ll receive financial help from him.

it also might be the last time you’ll be with him in general, and though there’s a side of you that’s glad not to be tied down anymore, you can’t say that you’re glad of possibly losing contact with namjoon, having grown fond of his presence in a way.

facing him, you blurt out the first thing that occurs in your mind. “when we get divorced, can i keep my engagement ring?”

namjoon chuckles. “that’s up to you. there’s no reason for me to take it back.”

“but what if you fall in love with a woman someday and think about proposing to her?”

“then i’d buy a new ring.”

“but wouldn’t that be impractical? given that you already have an engagement ring? i mean, this costs so much i could probably buy a lot and a house with it.”

“yeah, but that’s yours. it’d be horrible of me to give her a ring already worn by my first wife.”

“first wife,” you repeat with a dramatic scoff, lips curving upwards regardless. it’s cheesy and tickles your insides. “that trip to spain changed you, joon. you’ve been too flirty since you returned.”

that coaxes out a full laugh from him. “my apologies. it’s a habit at this point.”

“what is?”

“pertaining to you as my wife.” he shrugs. “isn’t it the same for you?”

“pertaining to you as my wife?” you joke.

you don’t see him roll his eyes. “you know what i mean.”

you think about it.

had it been the same for you? there’s not a lot of occasions wherein you have to call namjoon as your husband. your dad isn’t present in your life, your relationship isn’t good with your mother to constantly chat with her (she doesn’t even know you’re married), and as for your little sister who was the root cause of why you got married to namjoon…

well, she’s in a better place right now. far better than this crazy and scary world you’re living in.

“i guess,” you say, but your tone isn’t convincing.

he nods his head in a slow manner. “hm, it does seem that way according to what just happened with haein.”

you wince. “sorry about that.”

“don’t be, i understand. i’ve been gone most of the time since you got hired in your new company — and we are separating in a few weeks.”

“time flies really fast, doesn’t it?”

“yep. we used to think that it’ll take forever before the five years are up.”

“true. we kept on suggesting a backup plan if ever we fight and get sick of each other.”

“yet here we are, still happily married.”

“ugh, there you are again!” you accuse and he laughs out loud once more. “are you enjoying cringing me to death?”

namjoon doesn’t answer, a big grin plastered on his face as he continues laughing, groaning eventually when you start slapping his arm because of how it’s obvious that he truly is enjoying this.

“____,” he complains, laughing still, “stop, i’m driving!”

you follow as he says. “you’re the worst.”

“i forgot how easy you are to tease.”

“shut up.”

he snickers, doing a zipping motion against his mouth.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

#bts imagines #bts x reader #bts drabbles #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagines #rm x reader #rm imagines #kim namjoon imagines #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon #bts #bts fanfiction #namjoon fanfiction #rm fanfiction #kim namjoon fanfiction #namjoon drabbles #rm drabbles

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kissohee · 1 year ago

Text

I keep thinking about you.

i keep thinking about you. loser!ex!friend!taesan x popular!fem!reader ☆ nsfw ; wc : 8.7k+ ☆ one-shot mdni! synopsis; taesan never would've believed that there would be a time where popularity would get in the way of you and him. but it wasn't just popularity, it was also your boyfriend. so when you needed an escape from your boyfriend, you found yourself with taesan. the problem is taesan is attached, and you have attachment issues. warnings; referring to taesan as dongmin, cheating, toxic relationship, mainly written in his pov, its literally just sex again and again, angst, oral sex (both m and f receiving), cum eating, both protected and unprotected sex, use of pet names (baby, pretty boy, angel, good boy), i know im a small dick taesan enthusiast BUT he has a big dick in this, taesans very vocal, cockwarming, taking virginity, dry humping, making out, male masturbation, jaehyun and leehan cameo, itty bit of crying. a/n; almost fully based on taesans self composed song "i keep thinking about you." a lot of inspo for this fic came from that, so thank you taesan! if u read the lyrics of the song, a lot of things in this fic might make a lot more sense 😭 listen to his song here ♡

For as long as Dongmin has known you, he believed you were an angel in disguise. And there was a moment where you two couldn't be separated. Every little thing about you was perfect, and he was so lucky to be by your side.

Until you drifted away from him. It was fully your decision,, Dongmin would never give up being close to you for anything. But there really wasn't anything he was able to do about it.

You had started dating this guy, and he became the number 1 man in your heart, Dongmin knew he couldn't be mad at you over it, you had found someone that you took interest in, and for the years Dongmin has known you, this has been a first. But him no longer being in your heart wasn't the problem. The problem was that you had gained popularity and started to pretend you didn't know him. He knew he wasn't popular like you, and he had little to no friends, but he never would've thought there would end up being a time where you would just give up on your friendship without hesitation. You met your boyfriend. And suddenly you were gone. Your entire friend group shifted, you only became friends with people who were just as popular as you, and you had started to also tolerate when your new friends made jokes about him or other people. He had no clue what happened to that angel he once knew. Dongmin especially felt his whole world collapse when you had found out that he liked you. He had watched your contact disappear from his phone, as well as you blocking him on all the social media accounts that you had owned. He believed life was out to get him, So instead of getting over you like every other human would do, he watches as you and your new friends have a very loud conversation in the library. He's sitting at a table alone, writing down whatever comes to his mind every time he steals a look at you. "What a slut." He overhears one of your friends say, "I mean she's practically slept with everyone." He assumes they're talking about some girl who probably doesn't deserve it, because it's all he seems to notice you guys do. "Well not everyone..." One of your other friends raises her eyebrows and tilts her head towards him, everyone catching him staring. He immediately looks down embarrassed, fixing his headphones to pretend like something was playing. Your friend responds to her, "No one would sleep with Dongmin." She jokes, "He's really quiet, I bet he's a secret perv." He sees you laugh from the corner of his eye,,, you would never laugh at people talking about him like that. Well at least the old you wouldn't, the new you absolutely would. "Alright guys," You grab your bag from the library seat, eyes glued to your phone, "My boyfriend says I have to meet him at the lunch hall in less than 10 minutes or else he won't buy me food." You make quick eye contact with Dongmin and rush out of the library. Your friend looks at him one last time before rolling her eyes, "Can't believe she was actually friends with that guy." They both laugh about another comment made, and follow you out of the library. The library returns to being peaceful. Dongmin was very good at pretending like he couldn't hear people talk about him, which happened more than he liked. Your 'friends' also constantly make fun of you for ever being friends with him. He wasn't strange in the slightest, just kind of a loner. But you always used to tell how cool he was, and how you'll never be friends with someone the way you're friends with him. He hated the term friends. And if there was one thing Dongmin couldn't do, it was that he couldn't stop thinking about you. You have a boyfriend, and you treat him like shit, but you still occupy so much space in his head. How could he forget you so easily? How could you forget him so easily? He starts playing music in his headphones, looking down at the open page of his book, only a few words written down.

He finds himself writing yet another song about you.

Making songs was Dongmins therapy. Which is why he's hunched over his computer, trying to get rid of any thoughts of you from today. And it seemed helpless considering every lyric he wrote down today traced back to you. Somehow he was able to hear the doorbell ring, despite his headphones being on full volume. He places them on his keyboard, leaving his room to open the door. And the last person he expected to be there, was standing right in front of him. "What are you doing here?" You smile at him, glad to finally see his face up close for the first time in a while. "What? I can't see you anymore?" "Aren't you like banned from ever being in the same room as me?" He says sarcastically, not moving his body an inch. You look up at him before looking at your shoes, "No.. Well yes. But I'm willing to make risks." He takes a deep sigh, knowing he'd most likely regret his actions but he moves his body out the way and holds the door open for you, welcoming you inside. Once you enter, he locks the door and heads to his bedroom. You follow him after taking your shoes off, "Are your parents home?" "They're never home, you know that." He responded without looking at you, which you take as a sign to be quiet. You close his door behind you and look at his computer before he slams it shut. "Were you making a song?" "No." He shakes his head, closing his lyric book before putting it away. You tilt your head, "Cmon you can tell me, I know you have a passion for music. I support you.!" He looks at you with a straight face, "I was just messing around with the app." "I don't remember you being so secretive." "That makes two of us." The silence was getting unbearable, Dongmin watches as you fidget with your fingers, knowing this was just as awkward to you as it was to him. "Why are you here...?" "He cheated on me." You blurt out. You weren't sure who else to go to about this, "He doesn't know that I know. But I found out." Dongmin's face softened as he approached you, wrapping his arms around your body. "So why don't you break up with him?" He asks, "Why'd you come here instead?" "I don't really know.." You look up at him and let out the cutest giggle he's ever heard, "I'm not upset, I mean I'm not even surprised. Guess I just needed to tell someone." You both stand there, his hand now caressing your back, "You still care about me right, Dongmin?" Now it's his turn to laugh lightly, "I don't want to. But of course I do." "I'm such a terrible person." You frown thinking about the way you've disregarded him. He wasn't sure if you were trying to gain pity from him, you didn't need his pity, you had him no matter what. "No you're not." He lifts your face up so you can see him. "Your boyfriend is. He's a very unpleasant person. I don't know why you're drawn to him." He smiles at you, "And don't pretend he's not, we all know he is." You stare into his eyes and hold back a smile, "He is, isn't he?" Dongmin just nods back, taking glances at every feature of your face. How are you so beautiful? You place your hands on both sides of his face, "Can I kiss you?" He wants to, more than anything, but he hesitates, "What about your boyfriend?" You lean closer to his face, staring at his lips, "Let go of him right now, it's just us." You place your lips onto his, immediately noticing how soft they are. This is everything Dongmin has ever dreamed of. Maybe not in this particular situation, but the kiss was just as perfect as he imagined it. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him. He pulls away and your eyes softly open before you're staring into his eyes, "I want more."

Anything you want. He places his lips on yours again, this time a little more desperation shines through, you're backing him up to his bed, sitting him down so you can sit on his lap, all without breaking the kiss once. His hands are exploring every part of your body, still unsure if this is actually happening or not. What if it's just another one of his wet dreams? When you bite down on his lip, he's more than positive that this is actually his reality. The bite making him let out a moan. "You sound so pretty," You chew on his lip, "My pretty boy." The pet name sent shock waves all throughout his body, forcing him to freeze. He dreamt of the day you would say something like that to him. He had dreamt of a lot of things. "Don't say things like that." He whimpers, "I can't handle it." You run your fingers through his hair, feeling his bulge grow underneath you. "I can tell." You tease him, moving your hips against him to see his reaction. "Oh fuck.." He holds your hips, covering his face on your shoulder. It's embarrassing for him when he gets needy like this, especially in front of you. "How far are we going?" "As far as you want." You smile at him, looking down at his boner. Just the thought of fucking you already had him up, "Do you have condoms?" He presses his lips together, holding onto the hem of your shirt. "No." "Buy condoms next time." You brush the hair out of his face. "Next ti-?" He's cut off with you grinding against him, shutting his eyes closed. His nightmare would be cumming in his pants before even getting to third base with you. "Dongmin, have you ever had sex before?" You ask, not stopping your hip movements. He shakes his head and you start feeling bad. You'd feel horrible if you took his virginity when he was hoping to lose it to someone he had a relationship with. "Hey, than maybe we shouldn't do th-" "No." He puts his hand over your mouth, "I want to." You take a deep breath and nod. Your lips are back on his as you proceed your grinding on him. Dongmin is starting to get impatient, the grinding not enough for his painful boner. He starts unintentionally thrusting up against your clothed cunt, and a whimper escapes from his mouth with each thrust.

Your boyfriend is nowhere near as cute as he is. You can tell he's starting to get more desperate with his humping, trying to actually gain satisfaction out of it, and that's when you suggest you both remove the clothes in the way. Finally seeing his cock outside of his pants made reality really sink in. He's bigger than most cocks you've seen, and it surprises you. But you're determined to get genuine pleasure so you line him up with you. Dongmin's very lucky that his first time is raw. The second he enters, you immediately feel like his dick was made for you. It was the perfect size, bigger than average but not an uncomfortable size. "Oh god you're so big Min," Your grip on his shoulders tightens and he moans from the compliment alone. You adjust yourself to a comfortable position and look in his eyes, "I'll do the moving since this is your first time, okay?" He nods, resting his hands on your waist, he's so excited that you feel him twitch inside of you. You lift yourself up and down, taking notice on his facial expressions and noises, unable to stop yourself from smiling, "You're so cute." His cheeks become a shade of red, his cock twitching again. "You respond to compliments huh.?" "Not on purpose.." He says, trying to rid himself of embarrassment from being unable to control his cock. "I know," You pat his head, slowly feeling your energy go down as you get closer to your climax. "But it's okay because you're being such a good boy." And just like suspected, his cock twitches again. "So cute." You whisper under your breath. "Are you getting close? Cause I am." He doesn't respond, but instead starts lifting his hips up into you at a faster rate, taking control over you both. His hips twitch, and you feel it. His cum inside of you. And the thought of it brings you to your own orgasm. You moan his name out, and grip onto his hair. Hearing you say his name in such an explicit way makes him cum a second time. For the first time in months, you actually had a really good orgasm. "You're so much better than him." You touch his cheek softly. Dongmin almost cringes at you bringing up your boyfriend after just having sex with him.

"Break up with him, please." He whispers.

Dongmin won't lie and say he wasn't heartbroken when he saw you with your boyfriend again the next week. His arm wrapped around your waist, as you talk to your friends. He couldn't understand how you could happily continue going out with him even after sleeping with Dongmin. You cheated on him. Granted he did cheat on you first but still. Despite all that, you stayed. Why? He's only watching you from a distance. He wants to approach you, or at least just wave, but he can't move. So instead he's creepily watching you and he only then realizes it's a problem when your friend nudges your shoulder and points at him. Now he's more than aware this could turn into a problem. So he waves, because he thinks it might be able to justify why he's looking. Instead of waving you back, you take a deep breath, raise your eyebrows at your boyfriend and look back at him. Dongmin starts biting the inside of his cheek, opting on putting his headphones on and just walking away. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, and yet it's still just as awkward as the first time. And he's about to leave before he sees you speed walk his way. "Can I help you?" You look at the ground behind him, playing with the strings of your bag. He shrugs, now feeling awkward, "Just saying hi." "Yeah well don't" You respond quickly. He's back to biting the inside of his cheek, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweater. "I'm confused on why we can't be friends.." "Friends don't sleep together." You say, face deadpanned as you make eye contact with your boyfriend, far away enough where he can't hear you. He sighs, you've put him in such an odd position. You're not his friend but you're also not his lover? "So that's it? You sleep with me once and I'm not allowed to talk to you?" He looks back at your friends who are staring at him harshly, almost burning a hole in his skin. Your boyfriend however is on his phone, trying not to get too upset over the fact that you willingly wanted to talk to Dongmin. He hears you sigh loudly and you stand in front of him so he's forced to look at you, "It's much more complicated than that, okay?" You copy him and glance at your friends too, "If it was up to me, things would be different." And that's all you say before walking away from him.

Dongmin's just had the most boring class of his entire life. Mainly because he was yawning the whole time, trying his hardest not to fall asleep in case the professor decided to say something worth hearing. There's no one to blame Dongmin's tiredness on except himself, he hasn't been able to sleep well these past few days because of you. Every time he closed his eyes to fall asleep, the exact same moments with you would replay in his head. Thus, lack of sleep. So he's pretty happy when the class is finally over, he can go home and maybe, hopefully, take a nap. So he grabs his stuff in a hurry and walks out the classroom, all to see you standing there with your arms crossed on the other side of the hall. Maybe he's hallucinating, or maybe you're waiting for someone else, so he just walks away, not willing to embarrass himself anymore. "Dongmin? Hello??" He hears you call out to him, until eventually your arm is on his shoulder. So maybe you were waiting for him. "I needed to talk to you." He's not upset in the slightest, in fact he's actually really happy that you actually want to talk to him. "How'd you know I was in that class?" "Oh uhm." You say, taken aback by the question, "I asked around to see if anyone had any classes with you and eventually someone did and so yeah uh.." You had gone through all that trouble, for him? "Look," You start, "I really needed to tell you that I did enjoy that night with you. And you know, if you're down, maybe we could do it again?" Again? He swears his heart is going to explode. "When were you thinking?" "Tonight,,, maybe.?" Your voice had a little shake in it, exposing you for being a little nervous about asking him if you guys could sleep together again. Dongmin smiles softly with a nod, "Sure." He does his absolute best to play it cool in front of you but the thought of you and the past few restful nights finally coming to end makes his heart pound. And so the moment he gets home he's kicking his feet over the thought of you coming over again. Deciding on ways for the time to pass by quicker, he decides to clean his entire room. Like yes, you've seen his room at some of his messiest times, but that doesn't change the fact that he wants to be impressionable on you. But even cleaning his room didn't take up that much time, and he finds himself looking at the clock every minute. He probably should've asked you for a more specific time. He's just really excited to have you with him again. He's willing to get hurt if it means being able to be close to you somehow. He wants you any way that he can. Why was it taking an hour for each minute to pass? It must've taken another hour of staring at the ceiling before the ring to his door was pushed. And it took a lot of self control for him to not run to the door to see who it was, despite knowing it's most likely you.

And you it was. "Hey." he says, trying his hardest not to smile super hard, opposite from you, who is smiling. "Hey you." You poke his shoulder, walking into his house. "I couldn't stop thinking about you." He couldn't be happier. Dongmin closes the front door, motioning for you to kick off your shoes so you can go to his room. "How about we continue that hm?" He says before leaning slightly down to kiss you. Just like expected, you return the kiss, making sure you can taste every bit of him. "Your room, now." You say against his kiss and he nods slightly, grabbing your hand and walking urgently to his room. You automatically sit down on his bed and wait for him to close the door so he can sit down next to you, which doesn't take him very long because he's just as needy as you are. His hands find their way into your hair, and you're as close as you can possibly be to him. He breaks the kiss to be able to place them down your neck, "Careful about leaving hickies." You warn him, earning a groan from him against your neck. It doesn't stop him from pulling your shirt off so he can plant kisses across your chest, some getting close to your tits. You're holding onto one of his arms so hard he feels like your fingerprints will be engraved on it. "Did you get condoms?" "Not yet," He looks down at you, "I'm nervous to buy them." That part's entirely true, he's way too nervous to have someone actually watch him buy a pack of condoms. Like yes, it's normal but that doesn't change the fact that he's also way too scared.

"Okay so new plan." You sit up fully, confusing Dongmin, "I'll suck you off." His ears immediately go red, and his heart starts racing. His lack of words make you nervous, "Only if you want. I don't have to." He shakes his head semi-violently, feeling his cock react to your words. "I-I want you to." His response makes you smile, unzipping his jeans so he can get out of them. You're eventually face to face with his boner, which makes you happy, especially when it moves from just you looking at it. You barely even touched him at all and he's already super hard. He moves his hips closer to you, hinting at how badly he wants to be touched, "Relax Dongmin, I'll get to it." You pat his thighs softly, making him thrust up into nothing. "Oh? Are you sensitive there?" He doesn't respond, slightly embarrassed by it, but you think it's cute. You place a hand over his covered bulge, rubbing his cock through the fabric, as your hand travels up and down his thigh. "I need you to be a good boy okay, Min? That means no moving, let me handle everything." He nods, resting against the pillows on his bed.

The moment your hands touch his bare cock, Dongmin swears he won't listen. He wants to do what you ask, but it's hard when you're inches away from his cock. Your hands travel up and down it, pumping him in preparation for your mouth. He's biting his tongue so he doesn't make noise too soon. But when you lick his tip, he groans. Probably the deepest you've ever heard him yet, so it's obvious that you're driving him insane. And you enjoy that, which is why you lick around his tip, just slowly. His fists ball up, and they clench even harder when you take him entirely inside your mouth. "Oh my god," He moans,, what did he do to deserve this from you.? You don't respond but instead bob your head at a pretty reasonable starting pace. He's struggling to keep his hands in one place, moving them anywhere he can but nowhere seemed comfortable for him. That is until he places his hands in your hair, trying his absolute hardest not to move your head any faster. Dongmin can't believe how close he is already, but considering the circumstances he's currently in, he's surprised he's lasted this long. He's starting to feel more sensitive, which doesn't get better when he feels your tongue travel down the slit of his tip You know you're driving him crazy, and you're enjoying every second of it. His hips start twitching from how hard he's trying to not let them move like you had asked, but ultimately finding himself unable to when he thrusts up into your mouth. Nothing comes out of your mouth about it, knowing he can't control it which is why you let him push your head down with his hands. His head falls back and his eyes are shut. You stare at him in awe as whimpers pour out his mouth, some mentioning how he's close and can't hold it even if he tried. He looks back at you, and the sight of you looking up at him with his cock in your mouth sends him over the edge. His hips twitch as loads of cum gets shot into your mouth, and he watches as you swallow it all, making him moan.

You knead his thighs softly as he calms down from his orgasm, and when he finally regains consciousness, he lays you down in his place. Neither of you exchange words and yet you understand him entirely. It's your turn now. "No panties?" He comments when your pants are fully off. "None for you." You smirk a tiny bit, sinking into the mattress of his bed as he spreads your legs open. Dongmin starts feeling nervous when he looks at you, he's never given a girl head before. What if he messes up, or what if he isn't good? But he also wouldn't know unless he tries, so with a deep breath he finally places his tongue on your pussy. You wiggle into his mouth, liking the feeling of his hot spit on you. "Dongmin, please.." Your small beg for him, gave him all the motivation that he needed. He licks your clit until he's more comfortable exploring the rest of your pussy. Attempting to cover any places that might bring pleasure to you. He feels your fingers in his hair, similarly like how he was with you, except you don't move his head, you're just keeping them there for support. And so he goes back to sucking your clit, doing his absolute best to make sure he's able to give head right. Dongmin loves the way you're a moaning mess because of him, praising him while also babbling about how good it feels, and he's taking pride in that. Everything sent blood right back to his already aching cock. You feel the bed rock slightly, realizing it's because Dongmin is moving his hips against the surface to the pace his tongue is moving. And just on cue he moans into you, sending pleasure up, making you moan loudly as well. You've officially lost it when Dongmin uses his thumb to draw circles on your clit while using his tongue inside of you. You've never felt so good in your entire life, not with anyone else at least. He's doing his absolute best to focus on you only, so he doesn't even notice that he's unconsciously humping the bed until he feels another orgasm creep up. But he wants to get you there before him, so he speeds up his pace against you, watching as your back arches in a way he hasn't seen before. Your grip against his hair tightens, which makes him moan again, and you swear you're seeing stars. And before you know it, you're cumming against his mouth, rubbing against his tongue as much as you can to let the feeling last. Dongmin cums practically right after you, holding onto your thighs as hard as he can until he's cumming for the second time in an hour. He licks up all of your cum around his lips, smiling at you after. "Oh my pretty boy, that was so good," You smile back at him, voice low from tiredness. His heart pounds extra loud upon hearing your praise for him. He lays down next to you, exhaustion catching up with him, and with the way your eyes flutter, he can tell exhaustion caught up with you too. He takes an extra long look at you beside him, your eyes finally rest shut, and he moves a piece of hair out of your face and behind your ear. He's so lucky.

He's kissing you again. He swears he's addicted. Whenever you aren't with him, his lips feel bare. You're like a drug to him. He just can't get enough. He can't get used to the feeling of your hands in his hair, tugging on a few strands as you dig your tongue into his mouth. A small whine leaving his mouth as he brushes his bulge against you desperately. "Eager pretty boy?" He's unable to respond, so he just moans into your mouth, just the thought of entering you again makes his stomach churn. "I finally bought condoms," He says between breaths, "Took a lot of courage buying them." You wrap your arms around his neck, unbalancing him so he's laying down with you above him, "I love you." You love him.. "You know I love you too," His hands snake up under your shirt, lifting it off. "You're so good to me.." You say, kissing his neck, feeling his hips lift up into yours. You hold onto his hips, rubbing down on them, the friction between clothing causing Dongmin to moan. He loves any contact with you, just the feeling of you pressing against his dick makes his tummy flip. He's not sure what to do with his arms, eventually placing them on your thighs, feeling your body shift above him. You start undoing his sweats, gently pushing them down as he watches. You keep eye contact with him as you remove your sweats too, having less clothes keeping you away from his bare skin. You were feeling too lazy to actually remove the rest of the clothing so instead you just remove his dick from his boxers, and pushed your panties aside. Without breaking eye contact, you held his dick in your hands before sliding his tip against your folds. His eyes flutter shut, hands returning to your thighs. You circle your clit with his tip, your chest rising and falling. Dongmin letting out whimpers from the torturous movements. "Condom." You tell him in a quieter voice, you need him inside of you now. You watch as he messes with a box on his nightstand, pulling open the package. "You wanna do it?" You nod and grab the condom from him, slipping it onto him quickly. You take a deep breath before sinking down on him, biting your lip. Feeling Dongmin's hands tighten on your thighs, holding you down on his dick as deep as it can go. He pushes up into you, feeling your hands quickly hold him down. "Wait," You stop him from thrusting up into you again. "Let's just stay like this for a little bit." He doesn't respond, but he holds you tightly, as if you were about to float away. "I want this to last forever." It can. He can make that happen. "Angel.." Dongmin starts, kissing the top of your head, "I'm waiting for you.. I want this to last forever too, but I'm not sure if that's what you want.." You close your eyes, feeling the wetness from your tears, "It is what I want. I want you. I only want you." Dongmin's never been so conflicted. How can you want only him,, but not accept it when he's giving his all to you? He doesn't respond, he just does his best to ignore the aching pain coming from his dick, trying to enjoy the only intimate moments you give him. He's not sure how much more of this he could take.

He unclips your bra and slips it out between the two of you, loving the feeling of your tits against his chest. A tear unknowingly falls down your cheek and onto his chest, which he felt, "Are you okay?" "Mhm." You nod, face not showing in his direction, "You can,,,, go now." He thrusts up into you, placing kisses all over your skin. You whip away any leftover tears, and sit up. You put your hands on his chest for support, whispering his name under your breath. He's also moaning your voice, his senses heightened whenever he's with you. "I'm yours, right?" Dongmin continues to thrust into you, "Tell me I'm yours.." "You're mine baby." A small smile appears on your face after looking down at Dongmin, his cheeks are red and his eyes are glossy, "All mine." He's determined to make you cum first, holding in his orgasm for you. You're his priority, you're his #1. "Min I'm close-" You say, now grinding on him as he thrusts up, looking at the way he's breathing heavily. "You're close too aren't you?" He nods, not opening his mouth or else he wouldn't be able to control his words. He's now slamming his hips into yours, closing his eyes and opening them just in time to watch as your entire face mirrors the intense pleasure of your orgasm. He came too. But he hardly noticed over how focused he was on your effortless beauty. You got off of him, laying down right next to him as you kissed his lips softly. He's staring into your eyes when your phone starts ringing. "Fuck," You get up and grab your phone as he watches, "Hey babe. No yeah I'm on my way." You hang up and go searching for the close sprawled on Dongmin's bedroom floor. He's just looking at you, watching you gather your clothes. "He needs me to come over, and he sounds pretty angry too." You smile at Dongmin before placing a kiss on his cheek. "Do you know where my panties are?" You frantically look around his room for them. "Leave them here." He holds himself up by his arms. "You don't need them." You look at him and tilt your head, "What if he finds out I was here with you?" "So what?" "Dongmin.. He can't find out." Dongmin's such a fool.

If he's left with his thoughts anymore, he might go insane. It's been going on for 4 weeks, but it's been 6 days since he has last seen you. According to you, your boyfriend suspects something is up, but Dongmin's the last person on earth he'd think you were cheating on him with. You weren't responding to his texts or calls either, he's starting to wonder if he's lost you again. You kept posting about being at parties with your boyfriend for the past few days, you told Dongmin you couldn't see him cause you were busy with school workload. Dongmin offered to help you with work, he even told you that you'd do it for you, and you still said no. He needed to fill that empty space you had been occupying, which is why he's standing in front of the door to a classroom that was currently holding the school's 'aspiring artist' club. He's been meaning to attend for quite a while now, but never had the actual courage to show up. He just needed something, anything, to get you out of his head.

When he opened the door, the classroom was empty. Did he have the wrong time? "Hey man, can you hold the door open for us?" He turned around to see two guys rolling a cart of instruments towards the door, he immediately moved out the way for them to get into the classroom. "Thanks. Are you here for club?" Dongmin just nods, the other boy putting the instruments in the back of the classroom. The first boy holds his hand out with a smile, "I'm Jaehyun and the one back there is Leehan." Dongmin opens his mouth to respond but Jaehyun continues, "It's only us here today because the other members had other things to do. But you're welcome to stay!" "I'm Don-" "Are you here cause you want to make music?" Jaehyun looks at Leehan, "We also want to make music! We love composing and all that, do you like composing?" "..." "You seem like you'd be more into writing lyrics, maybe even both." Jaehyun tilts his head, "Not much of a talker are you?" "He's not talking cause you're not letting him," Leehan playfully pushes Jaehyun out the way, "And I'm Donghyun not Leehan." The two of them stare at Dongmin, waiting for him to say something. "I'm Dongmin.. And I do enjoy composing and writing." Jaehyun looks like he could explode with happiness, "Would it be too invasive of me to ask if I could hear something?" Dongmin doesn't like showing people his music, not that he has many people to show it to, but what if the people he's showing it to doesn't like it? What if they're too judgmental? Thankfully Jaehyun and Leehan were very nice about it. They both had to cover their mouths from opening and made many comments about how talented he was, and that everyone should listen to it. "The girl you wrote the songs about is very lucky hm.?" Jaehyun attempts to make small talk. It would've worked literally any other day but Dongmin was here specifically so he didn't have to think of you,, and now he's forced to think of you all over again. He smiles at Jaehyun, helping set up the drum set they were unpacking, "I guess," He shrugs, "She has a boyfriend." "She has a boyfriend and you're writing a song about her?" Leehan raises an eyebrow, "Does he know?" Dongmin looks up at Leehan, "Her boyfriend? No he doesn't know.. But she does." Jaehyun and Leehan exchange a look before Jaehyun puts the parts of the drum he was holding down and grabs his computer, "I think you should upload your songs." Jaehyun opens the soundcloud website, "Make an account." "Why?" Dongmin asks, taking a seat next to Jaehyun. "Look man, you clearly have unfinished business with this girl, and we can't help you with it." He sighs, "But the music you're making about her is actually really good, and you may be able to benefit from your feelings if you upload your music." Dongmin takes a seat next to Jaehyun, staring at the website, "I won't be able to upload them right now." "So do it later," Jaehyun pushes his computer towards Dongmin, "I just don't think these songs should be for our ears only." Maybe Jaehyun's right, Dongmin has always wanted to make his music private, but he's always been too scared to. This was probably a sign that he should, and so he puts his artist name as 'Taesan,' creates the account and makes a mental note to actually do something with the account later. "You're like a male heartbroken Avril Lavigne," Leehan mentions, cleaning up the mess of instrument cases, "Maybe except a little more heartbroken." Dongmin actually smiles at that, sinking in the uncomfortable chair. Maybe he's a little glad he met Jaehyun and Leehan. And who knows? Maybe he'll go famous and you'll fall in love with him then. -

The moment he finished uploading all his songs onto his newly created soundcloud, there was a knock at the door. And when he opened the door, he couldn't be happier. It didn't even take you two seconds before you were shoving your tongue into his mouth, slamming the door behind you. "I have 15 minutes." "Only 15 minutes?" Dongmin repeats between kisses, guiding the two of you to his room. You remove your hoodie, holding his face in your hands, "I have a date." He holds your hands in his and presses kisses down your neck, "Yet you're here.?" "I've felt very Dongmin deprived." You let out a low groan when Dongmin kisses the sensitive spot on your neck. "Yeah cause you haven't seen me in a-" He's interrupted with you moving your hips against him. He mimics your actions, hands moving to hold onto your ass, "Just shut up okay?" You say quietly. And he listens, because he will always listen to you. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, leaning on his shoulders for stability, still grinding your hips on him at a comfortable pace. He closes his eyes, just focusing on the slight release he's feeling from his cock because of you. You kiss all over his neck, sucking on a spot under his ear, feeling his hips hit up into yours. Feeling more desperate, you speed up, earning soft moans from Dongmin. You keep looking at the time and right as he's reaching his orgasm, you stop. "Fuck, I have to go." "Are you kidding??" Dongmin groans as you get off his lap, picking up your hoodie from off the floor. "I'm sorry," You pout, palming his bulge once before kissing him, "I can't stay longer." You check the time one more time before quickly making your way out of his room. "Why can't you.?" He follows your hurried body into the living room, watching you put on your shoes, almost losing balance and falling. You search for your purse, "Because we are dating." "You're cheating on him." He brings up. "Don't start with that." You flare your nostrils, "That's not fair." Dongmin's voice gets smaller, "Yeah well it's not very fair on me either." "I thought of you while having sex with him." Is the last thing you say before opening the door and walking out. He could just die. For multiple reasons. 1, you left. 2, you just told him a piece of information that he will think about every second of every day. and 3, his cock is still hard. And he never got to cum. He's patting himself on the back for keeping your panties that one time. He also has zero intentions on returning them. So maybe he is a perv. He takes them out of one of his drawers and drags his thumb across the crotch of it. So thankful he never gave them back to you. Just looking at them made him remember that night, the way you looked, the way you felt. All the thoughts flooded back to his cock, pressed against the cotton fabric of the same sweats he wore that night with you. You. That was all he could think about.

It seemed like all he was doing was thinking, even as he was ridding himself of all clothes in the way of his cock. Laying down on his bed, wanting you on top of him like you always are. He wraps the fabric of your panties around the tip of his cock before moving it in circles, his hips immediately jolting at the feeling. "Fuck.." Your panties feel really nice against his skin, especially when he starts thrusting into his hand, releasing moans from his throat. He's desperate for whatever release he can get, especially since he's only been relying on you for the past few weeks. You. It's all he can think about. It's all he's imagining,,, He's imagining that you're the one surrounding his cock, and not your panties. He's imagining that you're with him. Knowing it's your panties touching him only makes his dream feel real, and he speeds up his, knowing he's been wanting to cum since he was with you. The way his hand moves around his cock causes him to breathe heavily, noticing his long awaited orgasm approach, making him go faster. He's repeating your name in-between 'sorries' as cum shoots out of his cock. His chest falling as he opens his eyes, reality setting in. He stares at your panties in his hand, now covered in his cum. He really hates your boyfriend.

Dongmin knows he can't keep fueling this. He knows cheating is wrong and yet he's helping you cheat. His heart doesn't know any better. At the end of the day, he's the one making you cum, he's the one taking care of you, so he really can't understand why you just wont end your relationship. I mean you let him cum inside of you the very first time you guys had sex. So obviously it meant something for you.. His brain just can't seem to overpower his heart no matter what he does. He could honestly just cry. He's starting to feel bad for himself. Your words don't match your actions, and he still doesn't exist to you outside of the privacy of either one of your bedrooms. But he keeps doing this to himself, he keeps entangling himself with you. And he's about to do it again. Your boyfriend just left, and you had asked him to come over. Normally people who know they're in a bad relationship, or whatever you can call this, would say no and turn around, and maybe even go home. But he's Dongmin. Someone who is so in love with you that he would do anything. Even if it meant just being a fuck buddy. Even if that meant helping you cheat. It takes you a moment to open the door, smiling at the sight of him. "Sorry, I was just tidying up a bit." "For me?" He can't help but smile, especially when you plant a kiss on him right after too. You make a small pout with your lips and softly caress his cheek, "Of course for you, silly. Who else?"

Dongmin loved everything about you. But if he had to dislike one thing, it would be the way you lead him on. How you pretend like you like him, but only when it's just the two of you. How you acknowledge your boyfriend is nothing compared to him, and yet you stay with him. Why? "I've wanted you so bad." He says, wrapping his arms around your waist. You look up at him, smile slowly fading as you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him again. Not speaking back, just responding with your actions. And he knows you've wanted him just as bad when you bite in his bottom lip so you can sneak your tongue into his mouth, earning a groan from him. "How badly?" You finally respond, batting your eyelashes, not taking your eyes off his. He leans in to kiss you, "So badly." He whispers before placing his lips on yours, holding your head up with his hand gently. You manage to wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his hands come to hold you up without breaking the kiss. He could kiss you forever.

He carries you to your bedroom like this, placing you on your bed as he stands between your legs. He wishes he could kiss you forever. You grind your hips against his, feeling his cock grow against you when you grab his hair. He's kissing you as if he's never kissed you before. Like he wants what he can't have. He can't have you. So he takes whatever time he can get with you, through all the obstacles in his way, even if it's a secret. As long as he gets some of you,, a little piece of you,, at least. He removes your clothes slowly, admiring you again, dragging his fingertips across any part of your body he can touch. Your hand grabbing his, "Dongmin." You snap him out of the trance you put him in, and he realizes he's the only one fully dressed. But he's frozen. He can't move. He doesn't want to move. Normally you would tell him to snap out of it, but today you don't feel like doing that either. Instead you help him out of his clothes, placing a soft kiss on the middle of his stomach. "Come on Min," You shake his arm, speaking in a very soft tone, "I'm sure whatever you're thinking about can wait." You. It's all he can think about. It's all he's ever thinking about. "Sorry," He let's go of your hand, heading to your dresser for a condom. He knows all too well about where you keep them. He pumps his cock a few times before sliding it on, going back to you. "My pretty boy..." Is all that you say before he's entering you, making your back arch. Your pretty boy. He will always belong to you. He holds onto your legs as he thrusts into you, watching as you hold onto your bedsheets, your fists balling up. Despite his head making him unable to think straight, he's still keeping up good momentum. He notices a tear fall from your eyes, voice breaking every time he thrusts into you. He doesn't know why you're crying,,, how could he know if you don't even know.? Yet it makes him cry a little too. And he still doesn't know why,, but the air in the room today is heavy, almost suffocating. Why does he feel like he's losing you? He thrusts into you with more force, but not at a faster pace. He's taking his time. Moving his hands from your legs to your waist, so that way he could look at you from above. The way every part of your face reacts, the way your eyelashes look with your eyes closed, and even the dried up tears on your cheeks. Those dried up tears. He's sure his tears dried up too. You start grabbing at his arms holding your waist, fingers digging into them. "Oh shit, Dongmin." You open your eyes, wanting to look at his face while you approach your orgasm.

And he's approaching his too, with the way he's speeding up his hip movements. Watching as he bites his lip really hard,,, he doesn't feel like making much noise right now. He only wants to hear you. You both reach your climax at the same time, feeling his cock twitch inside you. Remembering the way you moan his name every time he makes you cum. He swears the sounds only get sweeter and sweeter. He rubs soft circles on the skin of your thighs, comforting you through the intense feeling after your orgasm. Waiting until you're breathing returns to normal before pulling out. Dongmin removes the condom and makes an attempt to throw it right at the trashcan in your room. And he puts his boxers back on before collapsing on the bed next to you. For the next few minutes you just lay in comfortable silence, your arm wrapped around his stomach. Your grip on him tighter than he's ever felt, and you look like you're contemplating saying something. "Are you Taesan?" You finally ask, watching as his face drops. He doesn't even look back at you, "What?" "Are those songs about me?" "No." He lies. That's the first time Dongmin has ever lied to you like that. You sit up, placing a hand on his, "You can't lie to me, Taesan." Now it's his turn to sit up, "Who told you about it." "A friend of mine. She found it and sent it to me," You play with your fingers, "The lyrics were oddly familiar." "I can't deny it.." When you don't say anything, he continues, "You know I'm in love with you." You quickly respond, "You can't be." "Why not?" Dongmin says grabbing his clothes, handing you yours, "I know you're in love with me too." You take the clothes out of his hand, putting them on, "I'm not." "Yes you are,, You can't lie to me either... I know you are." Dongmin's voice gets slightly louder, a small quiver appearing. "I can't keep waiting for you." You place your hands on your face, "This was such a mistake." "What?" You try to talk but all that comes out is a deep breath, "I'm sorry Dongmin. This never should've happened." He can't believe this is happening. You stand up, opening the door to your room and leading him to wear his shoes are. "But it did. It did happen. Multiple times." Dongmin says following you, "And you liked it. That's why you still slept with me just now, knowing I wrote songs about you, knowing that I really like you." He sensed this the moment he walked through your door. He knew something was wrong, that's why you cried. That's why he cried. He somehow knew it would be your last time together, but he didn't even realize it. You open your door, watching as he puts his shoes on and steps outside, looking back at you. "You're right, I did know.. and I did like it. I loved you." You look down at your feet, sniffling, "I just wanted to be with you one last time." He's unable to say anything, his throat is clogged. He has so much more he wants to say, yet he's scared. "I'm sorry. Goodbye, Dongmin." You make an attempt to smile, not being able to hide the tear falling down your cheek. He went from looking at your face to now suddenly staring at the front of your door. Out of the 8 billion people on earth, why him?

#in honor of how? release #so proud of bnd #boynextdoor #boynextdoor smut #taesan #taesan smut

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