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lee-laurent · 2 days ago

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Stay, It's Early - Luke Hughes

Summary: "Tess and Luke fucked!"

content: underage drinking, casual sex/situationship, slight angst, implied smut but no explicit smut, slow burn

wc: 7.2k

notes: new fic!! you guys voted for luke on the poll, so here you go!! either another luke fic or a quinn fic next :) hope you enjoyyyy

Tess Walsh was thirteen the first time she got invited to the Hughes lake house.

She wasn't there by choice, not really. She was tagging along, the only girl, the youngest by a year, the kid sister who got to come because her parents were close with the Hugheses and her brother had just joined the USNTDP. Ben Walsh was sixteen, which was a big deal in her world, and had somehow become inseparable from Jack Hughes, Trevor Zegas, and Cole Caufield seemingly overnight.

Tess wasn't part of the plan. She was an afterthought. But she packed like it mattered. Lip gloss that she only wore on special occasions, denim shorts that she thought made her look older, a stack of books she wouldn't read. The second they pulled into the driveway and she saw him-- Jack, in sandals, sunburnt, grinning with a hockey stick in hand--her stomach did a little flip.

He was the hottest boy she'd ever seen in real life. And for the next seven days, her one goal was to make him fall in love with her.

She tried everything. Sat near him at the bonfire, asked if he needed help when they carried stuff to the boat, even offered him the last popsicle like it was a normal thing that kids did. But Jack never noticed. Not really. He was nice, he was always nice, but he looked at her the same way he looked at the cooler or the bug spray. Something that was just there.

The rest of the boys didn't pay much attention to her either. They were busy, wrestling in the grass, talking shit, jumping off the docks to see who made the best splash. She couldn't keep up. When they played cards, she wasn't invited. When they took out the boat, there "wasn't room."

So she wandered.

And that's when she found Luke.

He was just a year older than her, though at the time it felt like a canyon. He was long-legged and lanky, quiet in a way the other guys weren't. When Jack was loud and electric, Luke moved in a way that made it seem like he didn't want to be noticed.

Tess found him sitting cross-legged on the dock one afternoon, flipping through a book of hockey trivia and eating Goldfish straight from the bag.

She hovered awkwardly nearby until he looked up and said, "You can sit, if you want."

So she did.

They didn't talk much, mostly just tossed crackers at seagulls. But he didn't ignore her. And he didn't treat her like a little kid, either. They played a card game later that night while the rest of the group was watching a movie too loud inside. He taught her how to shuffle right. She beat him once. He said it was luck.

The first summer ended quietly. She went home sunburned and smug, having not won Jack's heart but secretly satisfied that she hadn't spent the entire week alone.

She didn't expect the next summer to be any different.

And it wasn't. It kept going. Every year, the same week. Same lake. Same house.

The boys got older, taller, louder. She did too.

By fifteen, her crush on Jack had died the natural death most delusions suffer, slowly and with minor humiliation. She'd caught him making out with some girl on the boathouse steps and spent the rest of the night pretending to be violently interested in marshmallows. The next morning, she tore out the page in her diary where she'd drawn a heart around his name and never looked back.

But even after the crush dissolved, Tess kept coming.

Because somewhere between year one and year three, this thing, the group, the lake, the ritual, became hers too.

The parents still came, at first. Hers and the Hugheses, piling in groceries and yelling about applying sunscreen. The days were long, the nights were tame. She and Ben would share a bunk room. The boys would sneak snacks upstairs like they were being rebellious.

Then, eventually, it changed.

The parents stopped coming with.

Jack and Quinn bought a house down the road--bigger, cleaner, stocked with liquor and bad decisions. They had real money. Real lives. But every summer, they ended up at the same place.

And so did she.

Luke was always there.

They never texted. Never hung out during the year. But every summer, without fail, Tess would find herself next to him. On the dock, in the kitchen, in a shared silence that neither of them minded.

Sometimes they played cards. Sometimes they went for a swim. Sometimes they just sat together at the firepit while everyone else talked over them.

It was never more than that. They didn't flirt. They didn't get flirty.

But they were comfortable together.

Ben used to tease her about it when they were younger. "Your boyfriend's waiting on the dock again." And she'd roll her eyes like it was the dumbest joke ever told.

Luke never reacted to it.

She figured that meant it didn't matter.

Now, Tess was twenty.

Ben, Jack, Trevor, Quinn, Luke, and Cole were all in the NHL. Different teams, different cities. They posted pictures with new teammates, had lives that moved fast and loud and far from anything Tess wanted to touch. But every summer, no matter where the season ended, they all came back. To the lake. To each other.

And Tess did too. Not because she was explicitly invited, but because it was still just what happened. She showed up with Ben, or sometimes they drove separately. Threw her bag in the same room. Knew which speaker worked the best. No one ever questioned it. She was just there. She belonged.

She was still the only girl most of the time. Still the one who packed extra sunscreen, remembered the bottle opener, kept the cooler from being all beer and no water. She wasn't anyone's girlfriend. She wasn't a guest.

She was just Tess.

And Luke was still Luke.

They still never crossed that invisible line. They didn't hang out outside of the summer. They didn't text or FaceTime late at night. But something had changed. Slightly. Barely noticable.

Tess noticed his eyes more. The way his voice sounded when he was tired. The way her stomach jumped a little when his fingers brushed hers as he passed her a drink.

It was nothing.

It meant... nothing.

The car rumbled as Jack pulled into the driveway, the driveway of the house he and Quinn had purchased once all the NHL cheques started coming in. The place was rough around the edges, pine needles everywhere, beer caps in the grass from last year's party, but it was theirs.

It felt like summer.

Ben unbuckled in the passenger seat and grabbed the keys to open the trunk. "I swear to God, Jack, if you didn't bring enough ice again--"

"Relax, Trevor's got two more bags."

"That's not enough."

Jack glanced back at Tess through the rearview mirror, grinning. "Your brother's still a control freak, by the way."

Tess smirked and pushed her sunglasses up. "And you're still reckless. It's nice to see nothing's changed."

It was going to be like every summer before... right?

The party had started before the sun went down, which meant by the time darkness actually settled over the lake, it was already loud and crowded, spilling out from the back deck into the yard.

Tess stood barefoot on the edge of the porch, a cold can of cider sweating in her hand, watching as more cars pulled into the front like the invite list never actually ended. She didn't even recognize half the people. Some were definitely teammates, a few were girlfriends, and the rest looked like townies that Jack and Trevor had collected during an earlier beer run.

Someone had a speaker with better bass than the one wired into the house. The playlist seemed to be all frat-party classics with basslines she could feel in her chest and choruses being half-screamed. Bodies moved like background noise. Solo cups were everywhere. Someone was trying to light a joint with a tiki torch.

It was chaos.

Tess took a sip, ran a hand through her hair, and leaned against the railing, eyes scanning for Ben. Or maybe Jack. Or maybe--

Luke.

He was by the coolers, bent over to grab another beer, his t-shirt stretched across his back and riding up slightly at the waist. He stood up, turned, and caught her eye. Nothing dramatic. No smile. Just a look, like he'd been waiting for her to look first.

And somehow, she always did.

Later, the pong table came out.

"Alright, let's go," Jack called out, already racking cups with the expert precision of someone who treated drinking games like real competition.

Tess found herself easily pulled in, drink in hand, cheeks warm from the alcohol and the heat and the string lights overhead. Ben was on a team with Cole. Trevor had claimed some girl from town as his partner and was already showing off like it was the national championship.

"Tess," Jack said, nodding toward the open side of the table. "You up?"

Before she could answer, Luke appeared beside her, already sipping his beer.

"I've got her," he said casually.

Something about the way he said it, like he always did, settled right into her stomach.

Tess peered up at him. "Sure you can keep up?"

Luke cocked an eyebrow. "I've carried worse."

"Rude."

"You love it."

She rolled her eyes, stepping up to the table as he moved in beside her. Their hips brushed and he didn't shift away.

They were good together. Annoyingly good. Tess had never played better, sinking cup after cup, fueled by adrenaline, laughter, and Luke's low murmurs next to her every time she lined up a shot.

"Go left," he said once, his hand on the small of her back, his mouth close to her ear.

She did and she sunk the ball, grinning from ear to ear.

And when she jumped up in celebration, he caught her waist, hands warm, fingers sliding just slightly beneath the hem of her tank top as she laughed, breathless, flushed, proud.

She didn't move right away and neither did he.

It didn't feel like a moment then. Just part of the game, part of the night, but something about it stuck.

They won three rounds straight, and talked shit the entire time. Tess couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed that hard with him or noticed how often he looked at her when she wasn't looking.

It got later, the sky got darker and the drinks got stronger.

The backyard thinned out in waves, people disappearing in the dark or stumbling down to the dock, music fading as phones died or got dropped or drowned out. The party didn't stop, not exactly. It just shifted, got sweatier, looser, lit by string lights and adrenaline.

Tess was standing in the kitchen when Luke found her again. She was reaching for a bottle of water she wasn't actually going to drink, her skin warm from beer and body heat, her pulse beating in her throat.

Luke cleaned on the counter behind her. Close. The kind of close you only noticed when you realized you didn't want to step away.

"You good?" he asked, voice low, eyes scanning her face like he already knew her answer.

She nodded. "You?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah."

They stood there for a second. The air thick between them.

It wasn't like she'd planned on it. Wasn't like he asked. It just--

"Come up with me," he said, quietly, evenly. Not a line, just an offer.

Tess looked up at him, heart beating even harder, like her body had decided before her brain could.

She didn't say anything, just followed him up the stairs.

His room was a mess. Not dirty, just scattered. A hoodie on his chair, phone charge falling out of the socket, suitcase only halfway unpacked. It smelled like cologne and lake water and something Tess could only describe as Luke.

He didn't turn the light on.

The door clicked shut behind them, and then there was nothing but breath and movement.

Tess didn't think at all, she just moved. Hands on his shoulders, lips on his mouth, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt like it was something she'd done about a million times before.

He kissed like he'd wanted to for a while. Slow, then not. Deep, then messy. His hands were firm on her waist, sliding under her shirt, and pulling her against him with so much certainty it made her head spin more than the alcohol.

They didn't really speak. Didn't ask questions, didn't hesitate.

Shirt. Shorts. Bra. Gone.

Her back hit the bed and he followed. Their bodies moved like they were drunk on each other, like the last few years of their lives had been leading here and they just hadn't realized.

It wasn't soft or rough. It was just real-- urgent, wrapped in years of proximity and tension filled summers spent pretending there wasn't anything there.

And when it was over, she lay there for a second, heart still racing, chest rising and falling, fingers brushing against his as they both stared at the ceiling.

He didn't say anything and neither did she.

It was just the sound of music still faintly playing through the floorboards and the buzz of knowing that something that couldn't be taken back had just happened.

Tess woke up the sound of the sliding door downstairs opening.

The breeze pushed through the cracked window, cool against her bare shoulder. Outside, waves lapped against the dock, but inside everything felt still.

Except for her heartbeat.

It thudded low and fast as she adjusted to unfamiliar surroundings, blinking against the bright slice of light cutting through the curtains. Her head was killing her. Her body ached. Not in a bad way, not like a hangover, but in a way that felt far too intimate to describe.

It took her a good five seconds to register where she was.

Two more to register why.

The freckled back facing her was the final confirmation

Luke was still asleep, turned away from her, one arm tucked under the pillow, his shoulder rising and falling with each slow breath he took. His hair was a mess. The blanket was only half covering him, slipping low across his waist.

Tess sat up slowly, holding the edge of the sheet to her chest like it would protect her from the fact that her world had just changed.

Shit.

Her clothes were on the floor. Her bra draped over a chair. Her phone was face-down by the nightstand like it had been dropped mid-mistake.

She moved as quietly as she could, heart in her throat as she slipped her shirt back on and stepped into her shorts. Every movement felt too loud. Every second felt like it was going to wake him up.

And of course -- of fucking course-- it did.

Luke stirred, groaning into the pillow, voice rough with sleep.

"Noooo, T," he mumbled, eyes still closed. "Stay... s'early..."

It didn't sound like a request. It sounded like something his half-asleep brain said on instinct, something that didn't register as real.

Tess froze for half a beat. Long enough to feel it hit. Then she grabbed her phone and slipped out the door.

The kitchen was empty when she went down. Someone had started a pot of coffee but abandoned it halfway through. The air still smelled like the night before, beer, smoke, lake water, something sweet and stale. The fridge hummed like it was trying it's hardest to stay cool.

Tess poured herself a glass of water, even though her stomach was too twisted to drink it. She kept her eyes down, focused on the sink, on the tile, on anything except the fact that she had just slept with Luke Hughes.

She didn't know what that made them. What did it make her?

The rest of the house trickled awake slowly, staggered showers, groans, and sunglasses indoors. The usual post-party mess. Jack found his speaker still playing some song on loop and muttered something about brain damage. Trevor walked through the kitchen shirtless and stole a piece of toast from someone else's plate. Cole handed Tess a Tylenol and a banana like it was some sort of peace offering.

Ben looked suspiciously well-rested.

And Luke...

Luke was just quiet.

He came down last, hoodie pulled over his head, hair wet like he'd already showered. He didn't look at her. Not right away. He said hi to Jack. He fist-bumped Cole. He grabbed a coffee and leaned against the counter like it was any other day.

But it wasn't.

And Tess could feel it.

They were both playing it too cool. Both avoiding eye contact. Both pretending the air wasn't charged with something new.

And maybe no one had said anything yet. But that didn't mean they weren't noticing.

They went out on the boat around noon.

Classic lake day, load up the cooler, pile on some sunscreen, and fight over who had to sit in the middle. It was sunny, hot, and the water looked perfect. The guys were loud again, back to normal... at least on the surface.

But not for Tess.

She didn't sit near Luke. She didn't even glance at him when they boarded.

Instead, she wedged herself between Jack and Ben near the front, laughing at something Jack said, playing with the frayed edge of her towel. She wasn't trying to prove anything, But she couldn't help the way she leaned in when Jack cracked another joke. Or how she smiled too hard at her brother, like she wasn't spiralling out of control in her mind.

Luke sat near the back.

Didn't talk much.

He laughed when someone sprayed him with lake water, flipped Trevor off when he made a comment about the way he was holding his beer, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He watched Tess when she wasn't looking, or maybe she was but pretended not to be.

And when she threw her head back and laughed at something Jack said, something stupid and not even that funny, Luke looked away.

Just for a second.

But it was enough.

Enough that Jack and Ben noticed.

They didn't say anything. Not yet.

But Tess caught the way Ben looked between her and Luke when they were climbing off the boat. The way Jack raise an eyebrow when she said she was tired and disappeared inside early.

The energy was off.

Everyone could feel it. But no one had figured out why.

The grill hissed with the sound of burgers cooking on the hot coals. There was a half-eaten watermelon on the table, slices of tomato on paper plates, and a long string of plastic cups with some sort of concoction in them.

The music was chiller now, giving way to lazy conversation and the sound of the bottle opener clinking against the side of the cooler. It felt like tradition. Like what evenings at the lake house were supposed to feel like.

Tess sat on the edge of the picnic table, drinking a seltzer she hadn't even asked for. Luke was close by--too close and somehow not closer enough-- leaning back a deck chair, ankles crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

They hadn't said more than ten words to each other all day. And yet, they kept finding themselves in the same orbit.

She fucking hated it.

She hated that she couldn't stop thinking about his hands, his mouth, the way he'd whispered her name. She hated that she was analyzing nothing-- a quick glance, a sip of his beer, the way he adjusted his sweatshirt.

She hated that he wasn't really looking at her.

"Hey," Quinn called out, lifting the lid on the grill. "Tess, Luke-- can you guys grab the blue cooler from the basement? The heavy one. It's full of drinks, I don't think it should be carried alone."

That would've been fine.

Normally.

Except...

"I got it," Tess stood up quickly.

"No, I'll--" Luke started at the same time.

"I mean, I can just--"

"It's fine, I've got it--"

They froze, mid-step, mid-sentence.

The group went weirdly still. Like the conversation had justed sucked the oxygen out of the air.

Even the grill sizzle felt louder than it should've.

Trevor was halfway through eating a chip and stopped mid-chew.

Cole looked up from his phone.

And Jack just squinted, a slow grin on his face.

"What was that?" he asked, pointing between the two of them.

Tess let out a breath and turned toward the house. "Nothing. I'll go."

"I can help--" Luke offered, still trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked slightly on the word help, and Tess felt it in her spine.

"Seriously, I've got it," she said.

Jack was still watching. "Why're you guys being so weird?"

Tess didn't answer. Neither did Luke.

"Okay, no, what is this?" Jack said, standing up like he needed a better angle. "That was weird, right? That wasn't just me?"

Trevor nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. "It was weird."

"Uncomfortable weird."

"Like sexual tension weird," Trevor added.

Tess stopped walking.

Luke cleared his throat. "That's not--"

"Oh my God," Jack said, eyes wide. "Did you guys fuck or something?"

Tess blinked. "What? No."

Luke shook his head. "Jesus, Jack."

"I'm justy saying!" He held up both hands, backing away like he'd just launched a grenade. "It would explain, like, everything. The boat. The kitchen this morning. The... cooler thing."

"No," Tess said, sharper this time. "We didn't."

Luke echoed a beat later. "Yeah. No."

They didn't look at each other. They didn't need to.

Jack laughed again. "Relax. I was joking. Holy shit. You two are acting like I accused you of a fucking crime."

"Coulda fooled me," Cole muttered, not even trying to be subtle.

Jack kept going, because that's what Jack does. "Can you guys even imagine if Luke and Tess fucked?"

"Jack," Ben warned lowly.

"I'm serious!" he laughed harder. "Like, picture it. Luke and Tess. That'd be wild, right?"

Trevor nodded. "We'd never recover as a group."

"There'd be rules. An NDA. Emergency separation protocols."

Tess clenched her jaw, but didn't say anything. She just turned, walked toward the house, and let the screen door slam behind her without a word.

The floor creaked under her feet as she moved down the hallway, breath caught in her throat. She didn't even care about the cooler. She just didn't want to be out there anymore.

No Jack laughing.

No NDA jokes.

No Luke being awkward.

She sighed, leaning against the bathroom counter, fingers gripping the side so tightly, her knuckles were white.

Outside, the laughter had thinned.

Ben shot Jack a look that could've melted skin.

"Nice going, dipshit."

Jack frowned. "What? It was a joke."

"You're not funny."

"She said they didn't--"

"Yeah, and you don't know how to shut the fuck up."

Jack looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't.

Luke was still standing there, hands in his pockets, silent.

Trevor cleared his throat. "So... when's the food gonna be ready?"

She couldn't sleep.

Her sheets were twisted around her legs, the pillow was too hard, and her tank top was clinging to her back like it was glued there. The room was too hot. Unbearably hot. The kind of heat that made your skin itch, made all your thoughts louder, made everything feel ten times worse.

The small fan in the corner of the room buzzed but was failing miserably. She'd cracked the window open, hoping from some breeze from the lake, but all it brought was humidty and the sound of crickets. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

"You're fine," she mumbled.

That was the lie she kept trying to tell herself.

She was fine. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Except it was far from it.

Her skin felt too tight. Her thoughts were looping, Jack's voice from earlier playing on repeat: "Can you imagine if Luke and Tess fucked?"

And worse: the way everyone laughed. The way Luke wouldn't look at her. The way no one really thought it was true.

Her phone screen lit up when she tapped it. 1:04 AM.

She sighed, tossed it back onto the nightstand, and ran her fingers through her braid that was frizzy and half undone from moving around.

Then she sat up.

She didn't think, just moved.

The hallway was dark and every floorboard that squeaked felt ten times louder than it did during the day. Tess walked slowly, barely breathing. Just past Jack's room, then Ben's, then Quinn's.

She stopped outside Luke's door and knocked twice, softly.

She didn't even know what she was doing. Didn't have a plan, didn't want one either.

And when the door didn't open right away, she told herself it was a sign. A warning that said Go back to bed. Sleep it off. You'll be fine.

She turned slightly, ready to head back to her room. Then it opened.

Luke stood in the doorway. Shirtless, hair pushed back like he'd just rolled over. Eyes sleepy, but alert.

They didn't speak, they didn't have to. He stepped back and she stepped in, the door shutting behind her.

She kissed him like she was angry. Like her mind was spinning and kissing him was the only thing she could do to make it stop.

He kissed her back immediately, not caring why she was there, just happy she was.

Hands found skin. Clothes hit the floor. Tess didn't care that she looked like a mess or that her hair was sticking up in all directions. Luke didn't ask nor did he pause.

This was faster than the first time. Desperate in a way that was scarily close to being emotional, but only if you looked at it for too long. So neither of them did.

His mouth was on her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone. Her fingers scraped down his back, over the ridges of his spine. She pulled him closer, as close as humanly possible.

And when it was over, when their breathing finally slowed, when her body stopped trembling, when his hand fell limp beside her on the bed, Tess didn't let herself stay.

She sat up and found her clothes. Her hair was damp with sweat, her skin too, but she didn't look at him. Just slipped everything back on and stood quietly, her back to him the entire time.

Luke was watching her, she could feel it.

But still neither of them spoke.

She opened the door and stepped into the dark of the hallway like nothing had happened.

Behind her, Luke exhaled a long, slow breath through his nose.

He ran a hand over his face, shifted onto his back, and stared at the ceiling like it held all the answers. Then he rolled over, pulled the sheet over his hip, and let the weight of his exhaustion pull him under.

It was supposed to just be another day on the water.

At least that was the plan: warm sun, cold drinks, bodies stretched out on towels, lake water that cooled you off in a perfect way. One of those golden afternoons that made summer feel endless.

But everything was off.

Tess felt it in her chest the moment she stepped foot on the boat. The sky was clear, the music was low, the beer was cold... but the space between her and luke was still thick with this tension neither of them wanted to discuss.

They stil weren't talking.

She had said "morning" when they crossed paths in the hallway and he'd nodded, but that was it. They hadn't looked at each other since.

Now, out on the water, Tess sat between Jack and Ben at the bow, sunglasses on, jaw tight, pretend the sun was the reason she wasn't talking. Luke was at the other end of the boat, legs stretched out, talking to Trevor about something Tess couldn't hear and probably didn't want to.

He looked completely fine. Relaxed.

Like he hadn't pulled her shirt over her head last night, pressed his mouth to her throat, whispered her name a thousand times over.

She tried not to look at him. She tried really, really hard.

"Alright, let's go," Trevor said, standing up and clapping his hands. "Time to take a swim. It's too fucking hot."

Cole nodded, kicking off his sandals. "Last one in has to take out the trash tonight!"

Jack was already pulling his shirt over his head. "You're the one who left like four empty White Claws in the bottom of the cooler. You're already on trash duty, bro."

Tess didn't move. She wasn't ready to swim, especially with that many eyes on her.

Trevor turned to Luke. "You in or what?"

Luke shrugged, set his drink down, and reached for the hem of his shirt like it was nothing.

And then... chaos.

The moment his shirt came off, the energy shifted.

The guys didn't even attempt to play it cool.

"OH MY GOD," Jack shouted first, loud and dramatic, pointing like he'd just spotted the Loch Ness monster.

Trevor's eyes were wide. "No fucking way."

"Yo--Luke," Cole barked. "What the hell happened to your back?"

Tess froze.

Luke stood there, shirt in his hand, calm as ever, but the red marks were impossible to miss.

Three long, arching scratches carved into the skin between his shoulder blades. One trailing toward his ribs and one that was faintly bruiesd.

They weren't from a fall or a tree branch. They were from her. And everyone knew it. Everyone saw it.

Jack covered his mouth like he was trying not to laugh. "We fucking knew it."

Trevor pointed at Tess. "Knew it! I said it yesterday!"

Cole looked stunned. "Dude. Dude. Luke."

Luke didn't say anything, just smirked.

A slow, cocky half-smile that said "yeah, you're right" without needing a word.

Tess felt the heat crawl up the back of her neck before she could even react.

Her skin was on fire. Her brain short-circuited. Her stomach turned as every guy on the boat looked at her with the same expression--disbelief, amusement, and the worst of all... curiosity.

Jack was grinning like a fucking maniac. "So you're not denying it now?"

Luke just cocked an eyebrow.

"I KNEW IT," Trevor yelled. "That's why they were acting all weird yesterday! And why she wouldn't even look at you at the bbq!"

Cole leaned back against his seat like he was watching a movie. "I feel like we've uncovered something we weren't supposed to see. Like Area 51."

Tess didn't say a word. She couldn't. She stared straight ahead, face bright red, lips pressed together so tightly it hurt. She didn't look at Luke, didn't look at anyone.

If she pretended hard enough, maybe it wasn't happening.

Jack leaned toward Luke like a kid asking about his older brother's crush. "Okay but how did it happen? Was it the pong game? Was it--"

"Jack." Ben's voice cut through, sharp.

Everyone paused.

Ben was staring at the water, jaw tight. Not saying anything else. Just shaking his head slightly like he was trying to physically rattle the thoughts from his skull.

Then finally...

"Ew. That's my fucking sister."

Jack blinked. "Oh. Shit. Right."

Trevor held up his hands. "Yeah. My bad. Respectfully."

Cole nodded. "Respectfully."

Luke scratched the back of his neck, still smirking, still very much not sorry.

Jack elbowed Ben gently. "Hey, at least it's Luke. Coulda been worse."

Ben shot him a look that said say one more word and I'll throw you off this boat.

Jack nodded. "Right, shutting up."

The boat rocked gently in the silence that followed. Luke sat back down. Tess still hadn't moved. The scratches were still there. Undeniable. And so was everything else they weren't talking about.

Trevor and Jack were still out on the dock laughing about god-knows-what and there was music playing in the living room. Tess was standing in the hallway upstairs, a half-finished glass of water in hand, wearing one of Ben's old t-shirts and trying not to replay the events of the day over and over again in her mind.

The scratche. The boat. The guys losing it. Luke's stupid smug face. Her silence.

She'd avoided everyone the second they got back to the shore. Took a long shower and didn't come down for dinner. She let the weight of the last two days press heavy against her chest and she didn't know if it was embarrassment making her sweat or the heat.

She was just about to head to bed when she heard it.

"T."

Ben's voice. She turned and he was cleaning against the wall near her room, arms crossed, hair wet from a shower, socks mismatched like always.

Tess cocked a brow. "What."

He didn't answer right away, just looked at her like he was trying to figure out how to even begin.

"Okay," she said slowly. "You're being weird. Stop."

Ben pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "I'm not mad."

Tess blinked. "Okay... cool?"

"I just need to know," he said lowly. "Is he messing with you?"

That stopped her.

She stared at him, completely stunned.

Then let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Seriously?"

"I mean it, Tess."

"You think someone would only hook up with me if it was a joke?" Her voice cracked slightly, hurt underneath. "God. Your ego is fucking insane."

Ben flinched. Just barely, but it was there.

Tess shook her head. "You really think I'm that easy to mess with? That I don't know what I'm doing?"

"That's not what I said."

"Yeah, but it's what you meant."

Silence. The hallway felt colder or maybe just heavier.

Ben rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling.

"Look," he said. "It's not that I don't think you can handle yourself. I know you can. I do. But I've known Luke since he was like fourteen. And guys, especially hockey guys, don't always think before they do shit. I just..."

He trailed off.

Tess leaned against the wall, the glass in her hand sweating. She hadn't even taken a sip.

"I just don't want you to get your feelings hurt."

Her chest felt tight, because that part was real. That was her brother. Too many pucks to the head, their mom always said. All heart, no filter.

Tess sighed. "I'm not an idiot, Ben."

"I didn't say you were."

"And I'm not in love with him, if that's what you're worried about."

Ben made a face. "Jesus, don't say it like that."

"I'm just saying--"

"Don't say anything," he cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm trying really hard not to picture any of it and you're making it worse."

She cracked a smile, despite herself.

Ben groaned. "I'm literally going to drown myself in the lake."

"Tell Trevor to hold your ankles. He'll do it."

Ben snorted. "He'd charge money for that."

They were quiet for a second. Then softer...

"Are you okay?"

Tess looked at him. Not like the guy who used to throw her in the pool fully clothed or steal her fries or make fun of her for crying during The Notebook.

Just... Ben.

And in spite of everything, the embarrassment, the mess, the aching confusion in her chest, she nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm okay."

Ben looked at her for another beat, like he was checking. Then he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, tight and fast, like he was trying not to make it a thing.

"You better be," he mumbled.

Tess rolled her eyes. "Okay, you can let go now. You're sweating on me."

"Don't act like you're not loving this moment."

"I'll throw you off the boat tomorrow."

"Respectfully?"

"Respectfully."

Tess stood in the hallway, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, staring at the door in front of her. Luke's door. It wasn't the first time she'd stood there, not even the second. But this time felt different.

He still hadn't said anything to her, even after the boat. He hadn't spared her a look at dinner either.

And still, she was standing there.

Not because she wanted sex. Not even because she really wanted him. She just wanted to know. She was so fucking tired of not knowing.

She knocked once and then opened the door.

Luke was sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard, hoodie on with the hood up, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly, but he stopped halfway when the door opened.

He looked up as she entered, no reaction.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey."

She stood there, looking at him for a few seconds before deciding to speak her mind.

"I need to ask you something."

Luke shifted, lowering his phone. "Okay."

Tess walked closer, sat on the edge of the bed, far enough to breathe, but close enough to feel a little uneasy.

She looked down at her hands. "Is this just... being horny?"

He blinked. "What?"

"This," she gestured vaguely between them. "Is it just... being horny? The summer? Being stuck in the same house for too long?"

Luke didn't answer right away.

She went on. "Are we bored? Or lonely? Or is this--"

"Something?" he offered quietly.

Tess nodded. "Yeah. Something."

Luke leaned forward, eyes on the floor.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe it's all of that."

Tess exhaled slowly. "Feels like I should know, but I don't."

"Me neither."

"When did it get weird?"

Luke gave her a small smile. "You mean when it did it just stop being a normal summer?"

"Yeah."

He thought for a second. "I think I always kind of noticed you. But not like... that. Not until last year. Maybe the year before."

"Seriously?"

"You were always just Ben's little sister," he said, almost apologetically. "Then you weren't."

Tess leaned back on her hands. "Jack was my first crush, you know."

Luke snorted. "No shit. You followed him around like a lost dog."

"I was thirteen."

"You were obsessed."

She shoved his knee gently. "Shut up."

Luke's smiled lingered.

"I used to think you were annoying," she said. "Like, irritating little-brother energy."

"Thanks."

"But now..." Tess trailed off. "Now I think I'm screwed."

Luke looked at her. Really looked at her.

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."

She laughed once, quietly, surprised by how tired she felt all of a sudden. Like the weight of pretending had finally taken it's toll on her body.

Luke reached out and gently touched her knee.

It wasn't a move. He wasn't trying to start anything. It was just comforting. And maybe that's what made it different.

She lay back on the bed eventually, not in a rush.

He shifted beside her, pulled off his hoodie, and turned down the lamp until the room went dim and soft. Tess curled into his side, one arm tucked under her head.

"Is this a mistake?" she asked, barely a whisper.

"Probably."

She turned her head, meeting his eyes.

"But you don't want me to leave, do you?"

He didn't answer.

She moved closer and his arm slid under her neck. Her hand settled on his chest and slowly, her breathing evened out.

Sleep came easier than she expected.

Luke stayed awake a little longer. He looked down at her--her face calm, lips parted, lashes dark against her cheeks--and sighed.

Because he was so fucked.

Newark was colder than Tess had expected. It wasn't even winter yet, just late November, but the air bit through her coat as she walked out of the arena. She pulled her scarf tighter, phone buzzing in hand as she walked past waves of Devils fans in black and red merch, all filing out of the building.

The game had been good, fast, full of chirps and shoulder checks. Ben's team had lost by one, but it was close, and no one had dropped the gloves, so it didn't qualify as a complete disaster.

Tess had spent most of the night in the family section, hood up, hat down, trying not to think too hard about who was on the ice. Ben, obiously. But also Luke.

Luke, 43. Luke, who had two assists and chewed so much on his mouth guard Tess thought it was going to fall out onto the ice.

Now, the crowd was thinning. And her phone buzzed again.

Lukey: Meet me by the players' lot. Black BMW SUV. Five minutes

Tess smiled to herself and headed back toward the arena.'

The car door opened as soon as she reached it. Luke was in the driver's seat, damp hair curling at the ends, post-game flush still on his face.

"Hey."

"You looked good tonight," she said casually, buckling in.

Luke smirked. "You stalking me now?"

"You sent me your location."

He shrugged. "You found the car. Still counts."

Tess smiled. "Thought you were gone lose your mouth guard tonight. You chew on it like a fucking dog."

"You noticed?"

"Yeah."

Luke laughed, low and tired. "Stalker."

"Whatever."

They didn't go anywhere fancy. Just circled once, went through a drive-thru, and headed to her hotel without really discussing it. By the time they reached the room, Tess had kicked off her boots, dropped her bag, and was already tugging off her scarf while Luke stood in the doorway like he wasn't sure if he could let himself in.

She turned to him.

"You gonna stand there all night or...?"

That was all it took.

Her lips were on his, her hands under his Devils hoodie, his fingers brushing her jaw. Making up for months of not seeing each other in meer seconds.

They made it to the bed eventually, Tess settling into the fluffy hotel pillows. She laughed into his mouth as he tried to say something cocky, but she cut him off with a kiss before he could finish.

"Still think this is just a summer thing?" she whispered, biting gently at his bottom lip.

"Shut up," he mumbled.

After, they didn't rush to get dressed. Didn't rush to separate.

Tess lay on her stomach, the sheet half-draped over her hips, cheek pressed into the pillow. Luke was beside her, tracing slow, lazy shapes on her bare back with his fingertips--circles, lines, a crooked heart.

Her eyes were closed. Not asleep, just still.

"Hey," he murmured.

"Mm?"

"You gonna be here tomorrow?"

She didn't answer right away.

Then, "No, I'm flying home in the morning."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see it.

"Come to bed," she said softly.

He shifted under the covers, pulling her close, one arm slung over her waist. Their legs tangled, her hand finding his out of instinct.

Luke rolled carefully, one arm bracing himself as he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for his shirt on the floor.

Tess blinked awake behind him, hair mussed, eyes still heavy.

She watched him in the morning light, broad back, sleep-creased skin, fading marks from her nails still visible if you knew where to look.

He moved to stand--

"Noooo," she mumbled, voice sleepy. "Lu... stay."

He froze. Turned.

She pulled the blanket higher, one eye barely open. "S'early..."

Luke stared at her, lips parted, heartbeat in his throat.

Because he knew what that was.

His line. From the first morning. The one he hadn't really meant to say.

Tess buried her face in the pillow. "Don't look at me like that."

He smiled, shaking his head.

And laid back down beside her.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #luke hughes #hockey fic #luke hughes imagine

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lululocomo · 3 days ago

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LMK Never-Ending Au Be ready for some angst, because oh boy this AU is PACK with angst

"Never-ending Twilight Au" is a spin-off of "The new past Au", and it's basically everything going wrong in the worse way possible. (events will go very differently than what will happen in the new past so don't worry the main plot stay happy and wholesome) The plot: CW: Death Macaque go fight the brotherhood alone to imprisonment them in the scroll, but in the fight he get very badly injured, you know, the fatal kind. He fought them instead of MK, because the heaven(yes them again) wanted him to prove he wasn't a enemy to them. So macaque go there without telling anyone, so nobody go with him, and ended up on death door he teleport back to the mountain, and he's seen by MK, who immediately panic and hold him as he collapse on the ground. Macaque manage to only say a few word to his kid before dying in his arms. MK lose absolutely all control over his emotions, making his magic goes berserk, unleashing everything. This put so much strain on his body that cracks appear all over him, and are getting bigger by the second. Wukong feels that something is deeply wrong, go where he sense MK, see all the output of energy/magic, he start to panic and go even faster on his nimbus. He sees Macaque, dead, and MK losing all control over his power. He tried to calm Xiaotian but without success.MK body have too many cracks, and like glass, his body broke in millions of pieces, not able to endure all the output of magic. Wukong lost both of them in the same hour, and he completely shut off emotionally.

CW: blood

And for MK, well he's not really dead dead, he no longer have a physical form but his spirit is still "alive". When his body shattered, his soul was send to the shadow, to protect him in a way, and he is in a coma like state and isn't conscious. He get back his conscious century after his death, at the time period of the show ( like 20 years before season 1) He's just a spirit and can possesses object and barely interact with them. No one can see him, not even Wukong.

(first sketch I made of ghost MK)

Something is plan for Macaque, but first I need to make some art of it >:)

and if you're really curious for this au and want more angst, join the discord server! it's fine to lurk and just look at what's going on /lh /silly

#never ending twilight au #the new past au #spin off #lego monkie kid #lmk au #lmk #lmk mk #lmk fanart #lmk macaque #lmk qi xiaotian #lmk liu er mihou #lmk angst

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 day ago

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the heavy boxes

buttercup, chapter sixteen

a/n: i can't believe this series is finally complete... it started as just a therapeutic little thing I wrote for a week I was really feeling down from an anniversary of something traumatic (if you've read this series, then you can probably guess what it was, so I don't gotta go into the nitty gritty here in the lighthearted authors notes), but then I went and made it a long ass series. i blame the new season of daredevil for that one lol.

summary: “yeah, but that was when it was just my place,” he murmured, making you grin even wider, “I wanna fuck my girl in our home…” his palms swept lower down your form before he plucked you up onto the countertop next to the sink.

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, smut, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, moving, matt in a slutty tight t-shirt, kissing, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fingering, orgasm denial, edging, multiple orgasms, squirting, protected sex, penetrative sex

word count: 3008

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Foggy and I are right around the corner, we’ll be there in two seconds!

As you glanced down at the text from Karen, Matt brushed passed you and asked, “who is it?” as he carried a hefty moving box in his arms towards the messy towers in the corner of your apartment.

“Oh, you know,” you sighed as you stuffed the phone pack into your pocket, “just my secret lover,” you decided to joke with a smirk as you returned to the cardboard box before you, now stuffed full and ready for you to flip closed.

Your words conjured a soft chuckle from him as he then set the container down, “oh, really?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty great,” you went on as he then shifted towards where you stood, “has a thing for running around the city at night, defending people. I mean, you couldn’t possibly relate to something like that, mister lawyer,” your arms caught his sides as he neared, “also, he does it in this whole get-up that’s very kinky,” you fought the urge to giggle as you snaked your touch around his frame, “and he compares himself to the devil a lot, which, I mean, that’s hot,” you uttered before you gave in to the losing battle and a laughter began to billow out of you, mixing and mingling with Matt’s own before his lips soon muffled your merriment with a kiss.

It didn’t take long for the sweet peck to escalate into a full-blown make out session, the both of you swiftly riling each other up so much that your feet began to shuffle, shifting you back till your spine collided against the far-off wall. Plucking you up into his arms, Matt smiled against your kiss as your soft thighs enveloped his hips and your core pressed up against his growing hardness.

But then, just before his greedy fingers had the chance to peel off your shirt, just before it could explode into something much more, a knock suddenly tapped against the front door of your apartment.

“Oh, no, no,” Matt promptly whined as you broke the kiss, “tell them to walk around the block or something,” he murmured desperately against your cheek as he already knew precisely who was waiting out in the hallway, “just five more minutes, that’s all I need.”

“Five minutes, yeah right,” you giggled as he tried to capture your lips once again, “put me down, Matty,” you uttered before he begrudgingly obeyed, still hard as a rock in his pants as you simply skipped towards the door to open it, “hi, guys!” you played off your remaining laughter as mere joy to see your friends faces, “thanks for this, really.”

“Hey, I was in since the moment you said free pizza,” Foggy admitted, raising up both of his palms.

“Just as long as it’s not one with mushrooms on it,” Karen cocked her head as she crossed the threshold.

Though moving all of your belongings quite literally just across the hall seemed like a small task, you quickly grew thankful for the extra hands that had gracefully agreed to help out. However, as you all began to shift the items from one apartment to the other, a specific hitch in your plan became so apparent that it was suddenly all you could fixate on.

It wasn’t often that you caught your wonderful partner on a day where he wasn’t either clad to go to court or clad to hit the streets, but seeing him today, in a t-shirt that clung onto his bulky frame as if it was about to burst at the seams, distracted you more than you cared to admit.

And the fact that the man was also marching around and carrying all of the boxes that you couldn’t even push an inch across the floor, only made matters worse as you nearly started drooling as his muscles flexed and bulged, completely on display.

The guy also didn’t have to revel so obviously in the fact either, but being the man that Matthew was, as soon as his sharp senses effortlessly picked up on the evident clues, a cocky grin stayed plastered on his features till he soon caught your waist, as you tried to pass by, and snuck you around a tall mountain of boxes to sneak a kiss so teasing that it only fanned the flames even further.

But after he had given the first poke, the teasing swiftly became a two-way street as you both seized every opportunity to slyly steal kisses and sizzling touches whenever the two of you were alone, or even just partly obscured, for longer than a few seconds.

Although, as soon as your friends left and the door to the apartment slammed shut behind them, you and Matthew rushed to each other like moths to a flame.

Pent up from the torture, you crashed against one another, your lips once again locked at an instant before Matt uttered, “fucking finally!” his feet shuffled, shifted you with him, further into the now cluttered abode, “I can’t tell you how hard it was to not just christen the apartment while they were still here,” a breath filled your lungs as flashes of his desperation flickered in your imagination, bending you over a stack of boxes, only to pause and cover back up each time one of your friends entered the room.

“But we’ve already had sex in here more times than I can remember,” you furrowed your brows as he backed you up and into the kitchen.

“Yeah, but that was when it was just my place,” he murmured, making you grin even wider, “I wanna fuck my girl in our home…” his palms swept lower down your form before he plucked you up onto the countertop next to the sink.

Slotting himself in between your thighs, he smiled against your lips as one of his hands floated up to tilt your jaw into the kiss that he pressed against your mouth.

The whole dance that had stretched throughout the entire moving process had riled the both of you up so much that foreplay now would only draw out the torment as the pair of you each felt as if you were about to explode.

His lips migrated down the column of your neck as he swiftly stuffed a hand down your pants, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your panties to wet his fingers on your slickness. As he found your buzzing clit in a dizzying rub, the grip you had on his broad shoulders floated up and tangled in his short hair, your nails gently scratching along his scalp.

With one hand nestled between your thighs, swirling your puffy pearl and giving it the attention it deserved, his other palm drifted up along the outline of your frame till his touch found your jaw. Your cheek was aflame beneath his hand as his thumb soon stretched out to trace your soft lips, although when he briefly dipped it just shyly inside of your mouth, you caught him off guard when your mind melted and your lips wrapped around his digit, your gentle tongue swiftly fluttering against his skin and making him groan. Soon, two others took the thumb’s place, keeping your sweet mouth occupied as your legs began to tremble on either side of his hips.

Now, the man didn’t need to pet you for long before you unravelled for him, moaning around his fingers before your head tilted back, unplugging your mouth as your hips rocked back against his touch.

As you were panting with your hazy haze directed at the tall ceiling, you felt Matt’s hand dissipate as he stumbled back, dragging slow steps across the kitchen till he bumped against the counters on the opposite side and swiftly leaned back against them.

Though just as you felt the intoxicating high cause your eyelids to grow heavy, you blinked down just in time to catch as Matthew’s palm cupped the hardness that tented his pants, before he swiftly seized the zipper to free himself.

The slow stroke he then granted his throbbing length caused a pout to find your lips before your own touch began to travel down your frame, acting of its own accord to give yourself some relief.

Though as you stared, and your hand snuck its way down to mimic the manner he had just touched you moments before, you soon couldn’t help but whine, “Matty,” your eyes traced his tight fist as it leisurely twisted up and down his cock.

“What?” he chuckled, knowing full well how you wanted him to get back within your reach, though only smirked at the way you whimpered.

“Don’t play that game,” you panted, “do you really wanna get off all the way over there, all lonely?”

“Oh, honey, I thought you liked to watch.”

“That’s so not the point,” a shiver ran down your spine as a smile twinkled on your features.

“So, what is your point then?” he slowly pushed away from the counter, though didn’t near you yet.

“Are you seriously gonna make me beg?” you giggled as the spark of satisfaction his slight shift granted you made you dizzily kick off both your pants as well as your soaked panties beneath.

“Yeah,” he exhaled as he tugged open the junk drawer directly next to his hip, “I think I am,” he cockily uttered before his fingers conjured a condom from the catch all compartment.

A long sigh flowed through your smile before you then huffed, “please.”

“Please, what?” his feet slowly began to carry him towards you.

“Please fuck me, Matty,” your chest rose and fell rapidly as he got near, your eyes dipping to his dick as he swiftly rolled on the rubber.

Catching your legs, he yanked you even closer to the edge, scooting you near to wrap your thighs around his frame, “tell me again.”

And as you felt him nudge his hardness against your weepy core, briefly parting your petals with his girth, you whimpered, “please fuck m–,” before a gasp suddenly flowed form your lungs as he gave you exactly what you wanted. Burying himself inside your warmth, his hips then locked up as a sigh slipped from him and fanned across your heated cheeks, his nose ghosting against the tip of your own as you both revelled in the sensation. And as your cunt clenched around his girth, his heavy sack nestled up against your slick skin, a hazy smile found you both.

Though just as a faint giggle bubbled in your throat, Matt parted his lips once more and said, “again,” as he then slowly dragged his cock back out of you, making your eyes roll in your skull.

“F-fuck me, p-please,” you repeated as your eyes flickered down to catch sight of how your cream stained his fat girth, the slickness echoing throughout the apartment as his length then filled you up once again.

“Like that?” he offered you another thrust, slow and deep, “is this how this little pussy wants to be pounded?” his hand floated up to cup the side of your face, “could that make you cum again for me?”

“Y-yes!” you nodded as his electric rhythm caused you to gasp.

“Well,” his fingers drifted up to tangle in the edges of your hairline, “then keep begging me all pretty and I’ll do just that,” he uttered before capturing your lips in a fevered kiss.

Foggy echoes flowed from your lips as he then began to fuck you. Scorching lips dancing down the column of your neck, his grasp swiftly ripped off your shirt to clear the path for his kisses to wander down towards your chest.

And as he buried his face in your tits, littering the soft peaks in hickeys, your own touch clawed at his broad shoulders as you held on for dear life, nearly ripping holes in the fabric of his t-shirt as your fists clenched the cotton tightly.

But by the time that you felt the end grow near once again, the begging fell short on your lips and ended up costing you your orgasm as Matthew then boldly took a step back and let his cock slip out of your pussy completely.

“Wa-wait!” you swiftly grasped after him as your cunt fluttered, twitching around nothing as you promptly backed away from that intoxicating edge.

“What? I’m just holding up my part of the deal, baby,” he tried to keep a straight face, “if you wanna try again, I’ll be in the bedroom,” he uttered playfully before slipping out of your reach.

“Matt!” a short giggle bubbled through your gasp as you jumped off the counter and landed on your wobbly legs, “that’s not fair,” you tried to catch up to him, though when you did, your jelly-like legs stumbled and you ended up taking him down with you just as his hand wrapped around your waist. Tumbling to the floor, you swiftly seized the opportunity and swung a leg over his frame before he had the chance to slip away once more, “do you have any idea how close I was?”

“Is that really a question?” he smirked as you rolled on top of him.

“So you were an asshole on purpose, good to know,” you then reached down to grasp his cock, “then I guess you won’t mind if I repay the favour,” you slowly sank back down upon his length, your thighs trembling slightly on either side of his hips at the delectable stretch, “see how you do if you have to keep begging for it…”

“Oh, that’s cute,” he chuckled teasingly, his eyes briefly fluttering as he once again felt your velvety walls cling around him, “but we both know you’re way too nice to not let me cum.”

Letting out a gasp even though you knew he was right, as you did admittedly love to make him feel good, you still argued, “I-I could do it.”

Propping himself up to a sitting position, his face was suddenly much closer to your own as he cocked his head, “oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” your cunt couldn’t help but clamper down around his cock as you then watched him peel his tight shirt over his head and toss it off to the side.

Inching in a bit closer, he uttered, “then fucking do it,” before you then shoved him back to lay flat on the floor beneath you, the grin only brightening on his face as he let you plant your palms on his broad chest for support before you mustered up the strength to move.

Though a bit shaky at first, slowly raising up your hips before lowing yourself back down upon his fat cock, you soon found a rhythm that made your toes curl.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” his grip dented your thighs as they flexed with each molten rock of your hips, “bounce that ass for me,” he groaned beneath you, “ride me, just like that.”

Gliding your palms down to where his own was glued to your skin, you caught both of his before he weaved his fingers in with your own, letting you hold his hands as you chased your high, rolling your hips till you felt yourself catch back up to where you’d been.

And as you then finally came once more, the edging Matt had tormented you with turned out to only amplify the release as you then gushed around his girth, your cunt fluttering around him so fiercely that it forced his dick out completely, letting your pussy soak his pants, that still remained half on his body. Quivering above him, your fingers soared down to replace his girth, prolonging the high as you feverishly rubbed your puffy clit as well as hooked your digits inside of you till your juices no longer drenched your possessed efforts.

“Oh my god, yes, that’s my girl,” you heard him grunt as he nearly reached out to give you a hand, though only helped keep you upright as you spasmed atop of him.

You were completely boneless, barely registering as he then rolled you over to lay on the ground, it wasn’t till you blinked up at him to discover him hovering above you that you noticed that it hadn’t just been your dizziness that had turned the world upside down.

Dropping down to support his weight on his burly forearms, he now only had to tilt his chin for his lips to crash against your own.

“God, I love you,” his low timbre washed over your still tingling senses as he eventually withdrew from the breathless kiss.

Feeling something change in the air, you knew with but a look upon his features that the little game had been dropped, forgotten the very moment that he slid his cock back inside your haven.

“I love you,” your legs curled up to tangled around his hips as he slowly eased himself even deeper, “I love you so fucking much…” you murmured hazily before you then kissed him once again, your whimpers soon vibrating against his tongue.

Staring up at him through hooded eyes, your mouth hung agape as he began to buck into you, taking your breath away at each slow and deep stroke he offered you, plugging you up so perfectly that your pussy soon began to sing for him once again in sinfully sloshing sounds each time his girth would nudge against your g-spot.

Though usually concealed beneath his clothing, the cross necklace that he always wore now dangled from his neck, swaying like a pendulum as it kissed your cheek, caressing your skin at each zealous thrust, his heavy balls smacking against your leaky mess each and every time.

And when you eventually came one last time, once again squirting, though this time around his girth as he kept up his efforts for just a few more snaps of his hips before he as well fell apart, holding you close as you both panted through your matching smiles.

#lea’s writing #buttercup series #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matthew murdock imagine #matt murdock x fem!reader smut #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #matt murdock series #matthew murdock x reader #matthew murdock smut #marvel smut #daredevil smut #daredevil fanfiction

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baigepueckers · 17 hours ago

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Nika Mühl X Reader

Unspoken

Nika didn’t expect to feel so nervous meeting your family.

She was cool under pressure. That was her thing. She could handle screaming fans, last minute shot clocks, GMs in the stands watching her every move. But walking into your childhood home with a bag slung over her shoulder and your fingers laced through hers..that made her stomach flip in ways nothing else did.

It was loud inside cluttered in the most loving way. Old photos on the walls, familiar smells she didn’t recognize but instantly liked. A dog she wasn’t expecting barked twice, sniffed her sock, then curled up under the table like she was already part of the furniture.

Your mom hugged her like she meant it. Your dad offered to make her coffee. Your younger brother challenged her to a game of H-O-R-S-E the minute he realized who she was.

It should’ve been overwhelming. But somehow, it wasn’t.

And then your niece came into the picture.

Your sister went into labor the morning after you arrived, and everything tilted. Plans were dropped. Schedules shifted. Nika found herself in a car with your mom at 2AM, half asleep but wide eyed, following a frantic call and a packed overnight bag.

The baby was tiny. Eight pounds. Her name was Hazel. And from the second you saw her, something in you changed.

Nika saw it.

She couldn’t not see it.

And now two days later you were in the kitchen, holding Hazel against your chest with one arm while gently adjusting a bottle with the other, humming something soft and unrecognizable under your breath.

Nika hadn’t meant to walk in unnoticed. She was just coming in to find her charger. But the second she stepped into the doorway and saw you like that, she froze.

The light was different in here. Warmer. Golden, filtering through the windows and catching the soft strands of your hair. You were wearing one of her oversized hoodies, the sleeves pushed up messily, a burp cloth slung over your shoulder like it was second nature.

Your voice was low, gentle. You were talking to Hazel like she could understand, your words quiet and tender as you cradled her closer.

“You’re already milking this whole “newborn” thing for attention, huh?” you whispered with a small grin.

Nika’s heart didn’t just flutter…it shifted. Like something fundamental had moved inside her.

She had seen you in every mood. Drunk at team parties. Exhausted after studying. Insecure on your worst days. Competitive when someone tried to beat you in Uno. She loved all of it.

But this?

This softness?

This care?

She’d never wanted to marry someone so badly in her life.

She didn’t even believe in that stuff. Not really. She always rolled her eyes when her sister cried at proposal videos. She told herself love didn’t need some big show. But this moment was so quiet, so ordinary…and it broke something open in her anyway.

You rocked slightly as you fed Hazel, shifting your weight from foot to foot like it was instinct. You weren’t even trying to look maternal. You were. Fully. Effortlessly.

And Nika…who never ran out of things to say…suddenly had no words at all.

You looked up at her then, as if sensing something. Caught her eyes over the curve of Hazel’s soft cheek.

“Hey” you said softly. “She was fussing, so I figured I’d give my sister a break.”

You smiled. That sleepy, familiar kind of smile you gave her when you were content and didn’t need anything more than what you had.

“Yeah,” Nika said, voice a little rough. “Looks like you’ve got it handled.”

You chuckled, glancing back down at the baby.

“She’s perfect. I didn’t think I’d be this into it, but…” you trailed off, one hand tracing little circles on Hazel’s back. “She smells so good. Why do babies smell good?”

Nika stepped closer, tucking her hands into her sweatpants pockets to hide the way they were trembling.

“I think it’s evolutionary,” she offered, trying to steady her voice. “To keep people from… you know. Losing their minds.”

“Too late for me, then,” you joked.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was too focused on you. On the way your eyelashes fluttered when Hazel shifted. On the way your whole body moved around the baby like she was a part of you.

She could see it. A crib in your shared Seattle apartment someday. You, in that same hoodie, with a little one in your arms and no idea how deeply you’d wrecked her.

“You’d be a really good mom,” she said suddenly.

You blinked, surprised. Then smiled again, this time quieter. “Yeah?”

She nodded, mouth dry. “Yeah. The best.”

And then, before she could help it, her fingers reached out to trace your arm…just once, gentle and slow. Like she needed the contact to ground herself in the moment.

Because if she didn’t touch you, she was going to say something. Something too big.

Like I think I’m in love with the way you hold her.

Like I want this with you.

Like You are my whole future and you don’t even know it yet.

Instead, she stayed quiet. Let her touch speak for her.

And you leaned into it.

Hazel finished the bottle. You kissed the top of her head and sighed, content.

Nika didn’t know how to explain the ache in her chest. Only that it wasn’t bad.

It was the kind that comes when you’re right on the edge of something life changing.

The evening had settled softly over your childhood home…the golden light fading into something quieter and cooler.

Nika found herself sitting beside you on the creaky old porch swing, the one you remembered from childhood, the one your family had insisted she try even though she looked at it like it might break.

You were both quiet for a long moment, the night wrapping around you like a gentle blanket. Hazel was asleep inside, the faint sounds of her soft breathing drifting through the open window.

Nika’s fingers intertwined with yours, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as she stared out into the darkening yard.

She had rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in her head.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“I want this..us..forever.”

But when the words were finally close..right there on the tip of her tongue, they caught and twisted.

She swallowed hard.

Her voice came out soft, unsure.

“Hey… I uh.”

You looked over, your eyebrows rising gently, the way you always did when she sounded a little lost.

“I, uh” Nika repeated, running a hand through her hair, frustrated at herself. “I just… seeing you with Hazel today… it was wow. It was really something.”

You smiled, squeezing her hand, encouraging her without pressure.

She took a breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… you’re amazing. And not just with her. Like… with everything. With me.”

Her words rushed out, a little uneven, but full of meaning.

You reached up, brushing a stray hair from her forehead.

Nika’s heart hammered.

“And I don’t want to mess this up, or rush it, but…”

She faltered again.

You smiled a soft, patient smile that gave her permission to be nervous.

“You don’t have to say it all at once,” you whispered.

Relief flooded her chest.

She leaned in, resting her forehead against yours.

“Maybe I’m just scared I’ll lose you if I say too much.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“You won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, the weight lifted just enough for her to press a gentle kiss to your lips…slow, shy, full of everything she couldn’t quite say yet but felt with all her heart

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honeyscara · 2 days ago

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Chapter 4

Seongje love masterlist | whc masterlist

Prev chapter | next chapter

After everything that happened earlier, the rest of the school day passed in a daze. You couldn’t stop replaying the scene—Seongje storming into that classroom like a force of nature, his anger, the way he didn’t even hesitate to defend you.

When the final bell rang, you packed up slowly, unsure of what to expect. But as you stepped out the school gates, he was already leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, waiting for you.

“You coming or what?” he asked with a casual tilt of his head.

You raised an eyebrow. “Coming where?”

He just smirked. “You’ll see.”

A short walk later, you found yourself in a dim, neon-lit underground gaming area—walls plastered with posters, the clatter of arcade machines and clicking of buttons echoing around. The glow from the monitors lit up Seongje’s face in flashes of color as he stepped inside like he owned the place.

You followed, half-curious, half-nervous. “You hang out here?”

“Sometimes,” he said, leading you to the back where a row of racing games stood. “Helps me not punch things when I’m pissed.”

You gave him a sideways look. “So this is... anger management?”

“Something like that.” He shot you a glance, a rare flicker of apology in his expression. “Didn’t mean to drag you into all that earlier. But if I didn’t deal with them, they’d think it was okay to pull that stunt again.”

You sat down on the second racing machine, gripping the wheel. “I didn’t ask you to fight for me.”

“I know,” he said, sliding into the seat next to you. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t.”

You didn’t say anything right away. The game countdown started, the screen flashing 3... 2... 1... and then you both hit the gas.

“You always this intense with people who tell you no?” you muttered as you drifted around the first corner.

Seongje laughed, eyes locked on the screen. “Only when i like them.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at your lips.

The race ended with you barely beating him. He stared at the screen like it personally offended him, then turned to you with narrowed eyes. “You cheated.”

“I’m just better.”

He leaned closer, one arm resting on the back of your seat. “Dangerous and cocky. You’re gonna be trouble.”

Your heart thudded in your chest—but you held your ground, locking eyes with him. “You started it.”

For a second, the teasing smile dropped into something more softer. Like he was genuinely enjoying spending time with you.

“I wasn’t lying you know,” he said quietly. “You really do interest me.”

You looked away, flustered but trying not to show it. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

“It is,” he replied, standing up and stretching. “For me. Might be a pain in the ass for you, though.”

You followed him to the snack machines, still trying to process everything. “So what now?”

He handed you a can of soda, cracking one open for himself. “Now?” He glanced at you sideways. “You owe me a rematch.”

The arcade buzzed with life, a low thrum of energy pulsing through the neon-lit space. You and Seongje bounced from game to game—racing, shooting, even a claw machine where he stubbornly tried (and failed) to win a stuffed bear, muttering curses under his breath every time the claw slipped.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his frustration, which only made him glare at you playfully.

“You try then,” he challenged, stepping aside.

You took the controls and, after two tries, managed to snag a small plush keychain. Holding it up triumphantly, you gave him a smug look.

“Beginner’s luck,” he scoffed, but he didn’t hide his grin. “Guess I gotta keep you around for competitions.”

Time blurred as the two of you moved through the arcade, the air between you easing—less tension, more banter. For a while, it almost felt normal. Like he wasn’t the infamous Seongje from the Union, and you weren’t the girl who recorded his gang beating someone up. Just two teens wasting time, forgetting the weight of the world outside.

Eventually, you stepped out into the cool evening air. The sun had dipped low, casting the streets in warm hues. You walked side by side, your bag slung lazily over your shoulder, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Neither of you spoke at first.

Then Seongje broke the silence.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, voice lower now—less cocky, more honest. “About leaving the Union.”

You blinked, stopping in your tracks slightly before catching up again. “Wait, what?”

He glanced sideways at you. “I didn’t say I will, but... I think about it.”

“Why? Isn’t it everything you’ve worked for?”

You looked at him, really looked, and realized that for once, the sharp edges around him seemed a little duller. There was a tiredness beneath the bravado—a quiet weight in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he added, voice softer.

You swallowed, unsure how to respond at first. “Would they let you go?”

He gave a dry laugh. “No one leaves clean. But I’m not scared of them. I’m just..tired.”

But the truth was, he was scared—just not of them. He was scared of you getting dragged into it, of your hands getting stained by the same mess he was drowning in. He had done a lot of things without regret or for fun, but if something ever touched you because of him… that was the one thing he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for.

“You’re more human than I thought,” you said quietly, nudging his arm.

“Don’t spread that around,” he smirked, regaining a bit of his usual attitude. “Gotta keep up my image.”

You both laughed, the tension lifting a little.

As your house came into view, he slowed to a stop. “You should get inside. It’s getting late.”

You hesitated. “Seongje... thanks for today..”

He looked at you, really looked, something flickering behind his eyes.

“ah don't thank me, you make me seem like I'm a good guy,” he said, then turned to walk off, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.You watched him go, wondering just how deep the cracks in his armor ran.

Tag: @gacktsa

#honeyscara works #whc x reader #whc2 x reader #whc2 #weak hero class #weak hero x reader #geum seongje imagine #geum seongje x reader #seongje fic #geum seongje #geum seong je #seongje weak hero class #seongje x reader

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followmybadreligion · 15 hours ago

Text

“have you ever heard of following basic fucking instructions?”

joe goldberg, your sexy, devoted, deadly husband.

you always loved when he got that deeply assertive, almost father-like voice.

he was careful not to abuse it, knowing good and well it’s effect on you. it was almost like a sure-fire way to get what he wanted from, though.

won’t stop asking questions, like what he was doing, or where he was going all the time? all it took was one simple “stop pushing it,” before you let it go.

won’t stop snooping around the house, looking through things trying to try make sense of him? a simple “you’re testing my patience” and you were right back in line.

you see, it’s his job to protect you. that’s what he prides himself on. as long as he’s providing for you and taking care of you how you like, than nothing else should matter.

so what if he’s taken a more…hands-on approach to addressing your problems? any good husband would. who would sit around and watch their sweet girl suffer?

the only thing that matters to him is that you two are together and you’re completely and totally happy with that. any forks in the road and he’s immediately figuring out how to fix it.

but, like he’s said once before, he’s always been attracted to very smart women.

sure, in the beginning you were overjoyed when he’d send you to the nail shop for a much-needed refill. ecstatic when he’d give you his card and let you take the whole day to shop.

but slowly and surely, you’d notice how each time you came back, he looked so disheveled and on edge. you’d smell the faint smell of industrial-grade bleach, as well. sometimes, you’d even catch on to certain things that’d gone missing. a vase, a painting, a rug…simply disappeared like it’d never been there.

naturally, you feared the worst.

maybe he was cheating. you weren’t a stranger to infidelity. it tainted many connections before. who’s to say it couldn’t be present within your marriage too?

all the nights his side of the bed went cold—all of the seemingly fruitless errands. had the clues really been in your face all that time?

you tried to let the worries be just that— worries. joe loved you. spent so much of his money, his time, his fucking energy on you. no way he was unfaithful. it just wasn’t in your man to be that way.

the golden hoop earring you found just outside your bedroom door spoke differently, though.

you didn’t confront him with it immediately. no. joe was too much of a smooth talker for you to do that. one sentence too strong and out came that voice, rattling you in like only he knew how to.

“there’s nobody else,” he profess, eyes big, bulging, and desperate like those of a wounded lover, “what do i have to do to convince you of that?”

instead, you decided to take some time away. you packed a bag— just enough clothes for a weekend at a hotel outside the city. enough time to think, get your head on straight, and fully decide what to do.

you left a good hour after he went for work at the bookstore. just in case he forgotten something. then, you waited until you checked in to tell him about it. too afraid that he’d try and change your mind.

“joe, i need a weekend to myself. while i’m gone you can think of a way to explain away whoever you were fucking in our bed. don’t call.”

it was more rude than you’d ever been to him, but a big part of you didn’t care. he had the nerve to cheat in your fucking house? to hell with him.

you turned your phone to silent, muted his contact, and tried to clear your mind. took a nice bath, ordered some room service, even journaled for a bit. none of it soothed the pain though.

you’d been cheated on before, sure, but it was something about him cheating that really unnerved you. joe, the man who threw himself at you for months, chased you down relentlessly, and treated you like a princess…betraying you the entire time?

while initially you were angry, that anger transformed to sadness at the drop of a dime. seeing the storm of messages he sent, begging and pleading for you to hear him out, only made it worse.

he was still trying to manipulate you? even now? maybe he didn’t care for you as much as you thought.

you didn’t respond. only read the messages. part of you wanted him to see that you read it, too. wanted him to know how badly he’d fucked up. that you wouldn’t come back easily. that he’d seriously damaged so much.

knowing that you were seeing his messages only seemed to spur him on too. paragraphs and paragraphs poured in. some of him refuting, but most of him demanding to know where you were. you hadn’t been away from him for a single trip since the two of you were wed, so you expected the freak out. if anything, it made you feel a bit better too. you relished in seeing him so cut up at the ideation that he’d lost you. even better that it was all his fault.

but this time, you made the grave mistake. you fell asleep before you could read the rest of what he was saying.

“you’ve always been too curious for your own good. trust me, cheating is the last thing that i’d do. i know our trust has been shaky, but it’s alright. i’ll fix that. i’ll do whatever it takes. but you’re not fucking leaving.”

“do you know all this shit i’ve done for you?”

“all that i will do for you?”

“why are you so ready to leave a man that loves you?”

“i’m on my way now. think this talk will go over better in person, my love.”

the entire ride there, he’s cursing himself for not catching that dumb bitch’s earring. it’s alright though. by the time he’s through with you, you’ll never question him again. if he has to spell out his faith with his tongue a million times, that’s just what he’ll do.

with joe in the world, you’ll never truly get away from the man who loves you.

#YOU #joe goldberg #yandere!boyfriend #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere #yancore #obsessed #he’s so yummy #he’s also #not cheating #as devoted as they come #smut #suggestive #you season 5 #you series

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redroomreflections · 2 days ago

Text

Hotel California | Track 17: Something To Talk About

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 4.7k

Chapter 17/20

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: the slightest bit of angst

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Having the house to yourself meant one thing: self-pampering.

You’d spent the night soaking in a bubble bath, legs stretched out, a glass of cabernet in one hand and a half-read novel in the other. You could finally unwind with Isabella at her dad’s for the next few days. No school runs. No deadlines. No texts from Natasha asking where you stashed her favorite hoodie. Just silence, wine, and an overpriced lavender candle burning quietly in the corner. You ignored your inbox entirely, letting the notifications pile up while you binged three episodes of the trashiest reality TV you could find. Something with too many extensions, bad decisions, and too much lip gloss. Pure serotonin.

The house was quiet. Your skin was soft. Your phone had been blissfully undisturbed for hours.

Until it wasn’t.

That morning, you woke up and you missed your fiancée. She was on your mind in more ways than one. You would be seeing her in a couple of days, and you couldn't wait to have her in your arms again. You opened your phone to see what she was up to. The dozens of messages and Google alerts you received while sleeping were a surprise. There were more pressing matters. You tried to fight the blurriness to get a hold of what you thought was your mind tricking you.

Velvet Rebellion’s Natasha Romanoff Spotted Getting Cozy with Mystery Woman at Private Party

Your eyes scanned the line, finding all this a bit unbelievable. There was no way in hell you'd believe these were true. And yet, the images and description told a different story.

Multiple partygoers captured footage of Natasha with a brunette guest later identified as LA socialite Mia Crow. The two were seen sharing drinks and whispering closely at a Velvet Rebellion afterparty hosted by Tony Stark.

The photos you saw next were interesting, to say the least. Under different circumstances, you wouldn't have panicked. You'd have brushed these off as Natasha being friendly. Then you thought back to the night before when she hadn't answered your calls or texts. It was easy for the mind to spiral.

The next thing you saw was an incoming text from Monica. You loved your best friend, but you didn't need her to talk you off the ledge at a time like this.

Monica: Girl… get up. Have you seen what’s going around?

Check your Google Alerts. It’s all over IG stories, too.

I know the girl. Her name’s Mia. She’s thirsty. Don’t panic yet, but… this is not a great look.

Do NOT call her until you’re calm. You know how you get. I’m ten minutes away if you want backup.

You hit call on Natasha’s contact, fingers tight around your phone. It rang once before someone picked up.

But it wasn’t Natasha.

“Hello?” a voice purred. “This is Natasha’s phone.”

You blinked. “Sorry. Who the hell is this?”

A soft chuckle. “Mia. Natasha’s… friend.”

Oh. Friend.

You sat up straighter, eyes narrowing even though no one could see you.

You could feel the anger boiling up in your chest. You needed answers, and you needed them now.

"Mia,” you repeated, slow and flat. “Cute. So… is Natasha too busy to answer, or is she just passed out from being such a good hostess?”

“She’s… resting,” Mia replied, faux-sweet. “We had a long night. The house was packed. You know how these things go.”

You clenched your jaw, lips curling into a tight smile.

“Totally,” you said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Wild nights. Stray girls. Drunk texts. Very rockstar girlfriend, core of you.”

Mia laughed again, lighter this time. “Don’t worry. I’ll let her know you called. Maybe she’ll hit you back when she wakes up.”

You scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure she will. But just a heads up, sweetheart, next time you answer someone else’s phone, make sure it’s not the fiancée calling.”

The silence was golden.

Mia cleared her throat, stammering.

Before she could even open her mouth, you cut her off.

You didn't wait for a reply. You ended the call and tossed your phone on the other side of the bed, burying your face in your hands.

What the actual fuck?

You didn't even bother getting dressed. You were still in Natasha's oversized tee when you stormed down the hall, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. You weren’t the jealous type. Really, you weren’t. But you were also not stupid. You knew what these kinds of moments could turn into if you didn’t get ahead of them. Did you need to get ahead of them? Natasha wouldn't cheat. Of course, she wouldn't. You couldn't jump to conclusions.

You first went for that bottle of wine you cracked open last night. It was too early to do such a thing, and your mother would probably scold you for drinking at nine in the morning, but it was five o'clock somewhere, and you were beyond caring.

You needed the drink. Desperately. Pacing the kitchen, you ran a hand down your face, trying to breathe through it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it looked worse than it was.

Still, you didn’t like being embarrassed, especially not like this.

Not publicly. Not loudly. Not when it could’ve been avoided.

You had connections. You didn’t throw them around lightly, but if you wanted to find out everything about a girl like Mia, you could. All it would take was a few texts—one call. You weren’t going to spiral.

You weren’t going to start a fight.

But you also weren’t going to pretend you were fine.

When Natasha called you back, and she would, she would have to explain.

And this time, sorry wasn’t going to cut it.

******

“Hello, hello? Natasha? Wake up! Are you in there?”

The pounding on her bedroom door sounded like a drumline. Natasha groaned from under the blankets, legs kicking uselessly at the sheets as if that alone could send Wanda away.

“Go away,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse.

Another round of fists on the wood made her wince. She dragged a pillow over her head, trying to block out the sunlight bleeding through the curtains and Wanda’s voice cutting through it.

“If I leave, you’re dead meat,” Wanda snapped. “Open the door or I swear I’m breaking it down.”

“Jesus,” Natasha muttered, pushing herself upright slowly, her head pounding from the drinks and noise. She rubbed her eyes, heart still steady, because whatever Wanda was yelling about couldn’t be that serious. She shuffled toward the door, unlocking it with a sigh. “You’re dramatic as hell, you know that?”

Wanda didn’t step in. She just stood there, phone in hand, mouth tight.

“You need to check your phone.”

"Why? Did someone die?"

Wanda just glared. "Check. Your. Phone."

Natasha blinked. Her brain felt foggy and slow, like she couldn't catch up. The only thing on her mind was getting back to bed. She wasn’t hungover enough for Wanda to stand in her doorway, demanding things. She turned to go back toward the room, standing at the nightstand, and realized her phone wasn't there. She tried to retrace her steps and uncover the sheets but found nothing.

Wanda followed her, watching.

"I can't find it," Natasha shook her head. "Shit. Just tell me what's going on?"

"You're in the press, dude." Wanda pulled up the article. "It's not looking good."

Natasha stared blankly. "What are you talking about?"

Wanda sighed.

"Look, we all had a lot to drink last night," Wanda started, carefully. "I wasn't going to say anything until I knew what happened. But... you guys were seen together. And people are talking. They're making assumptions."

"Assumptions?" Natasha grabbed the phone from Wanda's hand.

The headline alone was enough to make Natasha’s stomach sink:

“Rockstar Romp? Natasha Romanoff Spotted Getting Cozy With Party Guest at Velvet Rebellion Bash”

Below was a grainy photo of her. Laughing. Leaning in close to that girl, Mia, at the kitchen counter. Another slightly blurred photo of Mia’s hand brushing Natasha’s lower back as they danced. Nothing damning. Nothing explicit. But enough to look exactly how the internet wanted it to.

And the comments? A circus.

Natasha’s mouth went dry. She scrolled again, and her chest tightened.

Wanda was quiet, her arms crossed.

“I didn’t…” Natasha’s voice was low, like she was talking to herself. “Nothing happened. I went to bed. She tried something, and I shut it down.”

“I believe you,” Wanda said gently. “But it doesn’t matter what I believe.”

Natasha sat down hard on the edge of the bed, the phone clutched in her hand like it might burn a hole in her skin.

"Does she have my phone? Where's my phone?"

"I don't know, but that's not the point."

"That's exactly the point, Wanda," Natasha said, throwing her hands up. "I didn't do shit. If y/n sees this she's going to flip her shit."

"She hasn't called any of us yet," Wanda explained. "Maybe she knows this is out of your control. Maybe she trusts you."

"I hope so," Natasha groaned. "Can you see my phone's location?"

"Last location says here," Wanda flipped through the Find My Phone app. "Looks like it's in the living room. Maybe the girl left it there when she went home?"

"I'll look. " Natasha sighed.

Suddenly, Wanda was notified that something had been sent to her Instagram inbox. One of her friends who knew her and Natasha well enough had sent her something from Mia Crow's official Instagram account. She clicked on it out of curiosity.

It was a simple post—a carousel of photos.

The first was a dimly lit selfie — Mia pouting at the camera, the faint background unmistakably the house they were standing in now. You could even see Tony’s drumsticks in the back if you squinted. The second was her sipping from a red cup, surrounded by blurry figures. The third? A photo of her legs draped lazily over a coffee table, a velvet throw from the couch tossed across her lap.

The caption?

“Was just a wild night and nothing more 🎸✨ #RockstarEnergy #VelvetDreams”

The killer was in the next photo.

A screenshot of a DM exchange with blurred names, but it didn’t matter. The usernames were cropped enough to invite speculation without revealing anything directly.

mia_crow: appreciate you showing up tonight. the movie wasn’t much, but it meant a lot.

mysterioususer: Wouldn’t miss it. You were great!

The final photo?

A black screen with white text:

“Caught in the midst and can't lie / Every touch, you make it harder for me, baby.”

Lyrics from your hit single Obvious.

Wanda nearly dropped her phone. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

"I'm going to kill her," Natasha stared at the screen, her chest tightening. “That premiere was eight months ago. I went for five minutes. Took a picture, said congrats, and left. It was for a friend from the production crew. I barely remembered who she was last night. ”

“Doesn’t matter,” Wanda said grimly. “She’s painting a whole story and letting the internet fill in the blanks.”

Natasha’s jaw tensed. “I need to talk to Y/n. Now.” She had to find her phone first. She couldn't fathom why Mia was doing what she was doing. Why her? Why now?

"I'm going to call her." Natasha sighed, running a hand down her face.

Wanda patted her on the shoulder.

"Good luck. I'll get coffee. We're going to need a lot of it today."

"Thanks, Wan."

When Wanda left the room, Natasha scurried down the stairs for her phone. She ignored the mess of the house, half-eaten pizza, beer bottles, and red solo cups everywhere, to look under the couch cushions and behind the curtains. She checked the kitchen, the bathroom, even the balcony outside the main bedroom.

Nothing.

Her mind was racing. She felt like she was missing a piece.

"Where is it?" she muttered.

She was about to give up when she spotted a simple black phone sitting underneath a magazine on the coffee table. Mia had been here less than two hours ago. This was all going so fast that Natasha couldn't even wrap her head around it.

Her phone had a few missed calls and a horde of notifications. Surprisingly, none of them were from you. Was that a good sign?

Her hands started to tremble. She had to explain. She had to get hold of you. Fuck the press and the fans. The only person who mattered was you.

Without thinking, she called your cell phone.

Ring.

Ri-

"Hi, this is y/n. I can't take your call right now, so please leave a message after the tone. Thank you."

Fuck. Voicemail. She hated that moment entirely too much.

"Hey, it's me. I don't know what you saw, but I can explain. It's not what it looks like, I promise. Please call me back when you get the chance. Love you."

It would have to do. She was going to try again later. She wasn't sure where you were or what you were doing. She could only hope that you'd call her back soon.

********

You moved the watering can from pot to pot slowly and deliberately. The sun was hot on your skin as you crouched down to check the rosemary that had been stubborn all summer. You weren’t angry, at least not outwardly. But your jaw ached from clenching, and the quiet in your backyard kept you from combusting.

You’d silenced your phone two hours ago. Monica had called. Twice. Stacy had texted something vague and loaded: “You good? Need backup?” You hadn’t responded.

The sound of the sliding glass door creaking open barely made you flinch. You knew the rhythm of Monica’s steps before she even said anything.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Watering my plants,” you replied, voice flat, not bothering to look up. "I gave you that key for emergencies." You rolled your eyes.

Monica leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "Girl, this is an emergency. And you know it. I've been calling you. You didn't answer."

"I'm busy," you said pointedly.

"Right." Monica shook her head. "Like a woman who hasn’t been on every gossip site and Instagram feed since seven this morning?” Stacy stepped out beside her with iced coffee and sunglasses pushed into her hair.

You sighed. Leave it to your friends not to leave you alone with your thoughts. You didn't know whether to thank them or ask them to leave.

You stood and adjusted the flow of the watering can, aiming for the pot near the lemon tree. “They were looking thirsty.”

“So are the internet sleuths,” Monica muttered.

You arched a brow at that but stayed quiet.

“You saw it?” Monica asked.

"Mia's latest Instagram post? Yeah, I did." You shrugged.

"And you're still watering plants?" Stacy said. She shared a look with Monica. "This is growth from you. I don't know if I like growth from you." Stacy crossed her arms. “Has she called?”

“I don't know,” you replied. “I did, though. Mia answered Natasha’s phone like it belonged to her.”

“Ooh,” Monica winced. “That’s... bold.”

“Right?” You scoffed, wiping your damp palms on the front of your shorts. “She hit me with the fake sweet voice, too. ‘Oh, we had a long night.’ Like I won’t find out where she lives and repo her damn lips.”

That earned a laugh from both of them, but Monica stepped forward, her expression softening.

“Seriously. You okay?”

"No," you muttered. "I'm not. This is humiliating, Monica. It's bullshit. I want to scream, I'm so mad. But it's not just the press thing. I mean, that's part of it, sure. It's..."

"Natasha," Stacy finished for you.

"Exactly." You sighed. "I know Natasha. I know how this probably looks, but I also know she wouldn’t cheat on me.” You trailed off, setting the watering can down with more force than necessary. “It’s the public part. The optics. The fact that we’ve worked so hard to be private, and now some thirsty starlet is trying to turn us into messy headlines.”

“You’re allowed to be pissed,” Stacy said gently.

You looked out at the yard, toward the fence line Isabella had helped paint pink last summer. “I just don’t want to yell. Not right now. I don’t want to fight her. I want her to fix it.”

"Well, she can't fix it if you don't call or answer her calls again," Stacy said, handing you an iced coffee.

You sighed and took a sip.

"Yeah, I know." You took the cold coffee. "Thanks, Stace."

"Don't mention it."

"Okay," Monica clapped her hands together. "You go and call your girlfriend. We will be waiting right here if you need us.'

"Fiancée," You supplied.

"What?" Monica raised a brow.

"Fiancée," you corrected. "Natasha and I got engaged last week."

"Wait a minute. You what?!"

Monica and Stacy were stunned. Their faces were priceless. They couldn't believe what they were hearing.

Monica blinked first, then slowly put her iced coffee on the table like it might explode. “You got engaged last week and didn’t say anything?!”

Stacy’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, were you gonna just casually drop that while watering your basil?”

You tried not to smile, shrugging. “We weren’t ready to tell people yet. We wanted to keep it just ours… for a little while.”

Monica pointed a dramatic finger at you. “Okay, that’s beautiful and romantic, and I love you. But I’m also offended on a spiritual level.”

“It’s giving betrayal,” Stacy added, placing a hand over her heart. “But also it’s giving congratulations, because holy shit, finally.”

You laughed softly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. “We didn’t want the press to get wind of it. And now with everything going on—”

Monica raised her hands. “Say no more. Seriously. That makes sense.”

“Still,” Stacy said, stepping forward to squeeze your arm. “I hope you know it’s a big deal. And no matter what happens with this PR mess, you’re not in it alone.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I know.”

Monica picked her coffee back up and pointed toward the house. “Go call your fiancée. Fix this. We’ll be here if you need a soundboard… or someone to write a very professional and legally vague Instagram caption.”

“And maybe after that,” Stacy added, “we plan a little engagement celebration that doesn't involve headlines or shady D-listers.”

You smiled. A real one, this time. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

You left them to their devices to grab your phone, sitting face down on the counter. You picked it up after seeing the voicemails and texts from Natasha. You needed to call her. Truly, all of this shouldn't be a big deal. So why did you feel so stupid and angry?

"Baby?" Natasha breathed on the phone the moment she picked up. "You have to let me explain."

You stayed quiet for a beat too long.

"Go ahead," you said finally, the words clipped. Controlled.

"Nothing happened. I swear. Mia showed up with a friend of a friend. I didn’t invite her. She was being flirty all night, but I shut it down. I went upstairs alone."

You said nothing.

"I didn’t know she had my phone until Wanda showed me the article. I didn’t sleep with her. I barely talked to her.”

"Right," you replied, voice still even. “And the posts? The pictures? The fact that she answered your phone, Natasha?”

"I didn’t know she had it," she said quickly. “She must’ve taken it when I left it downstairs. I found it on the coffee table under a stack of shit.”

"And that DM she posted?” you asked, pacing now. “That looked pretty friendly for someone you barely talked to.”

Natasha hesitated. Too long.

“It was from months ago,” she said. “We met at some screening. I forgot we even exchanged messages. It was just… surface stuff.”

You stopped pacing. “You forgot.”

“Yeah, baby, you know how these events are. You meet people. You’re polite. That doesn’t mean anything.”

You pressed your lips together. “You’re telling me you forgot messaging a girl who now just happened to be all over your party and your press?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Do you know how stupid I look right now?” you snapped. “There are pictures of our daughter on stage with you, and now this shit is what people see when they Google your name.”

Natasha exhaled. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem, Natasha,” you cut in. “You didn’t think.”

Silence. Natasha was gathering her thoughts before she blew up. You would almost smile at knowing her so well if it weren't for you getting angry.

"I don't know what else to say," Natasha's tone is annoyed now. "I told you nothing happened. I'm answering all of your questions. What exactly do you want me to say here other than I'm sorry?"

You took a deep breath. "I don't know."

“You don’t know?” Natasha echoed, her voice taut. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’ve already decided I did something wrong.”

You ran a hand over your face. “You’re not listening. I’m not accusing you of cheating. I’m saying this looks bad. It looks messy. And I don’t have the luxury of pretending it doesn’t.”

“I didn’t ask you to pretend,” she shot back. “I asked you to believe me.”

“I do,” you said, louder than intended. “But believing you doesn’t erase that my phone blew up at 2 a.m. with headlines and DMs. That's my friend texting me asking if we’re still together. I had to sit there and explain to Monica and Stacy why some girl answered your phone.”

Natasha let out a bitter laugh. “So what, you’re embarrassed?”

You blinked. “I’m humiliated. There’s a difference.”

That shut her up.

For a moment, the only thing you could hear was both of your breathing, heavy with frustration, too many things left unsaid sitting between you like a wall.

Then she sighed, quieter this time. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you either.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “I know.”

Another beat.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” you said, your voice soft, tired. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not still hurt.”

“Okay,” she said, and this time there was no fight in her voice. Just acceptance. “Okay.”

You didn’t know what else to say after that. So neither of you did.

The line stayed open, neither of you hanging up.

"I want to see you," She said in that voice that always made you swoon.

"I want to see you too," You said. You could see Monica and Stacy looking at you through the glass. You swiveled in your chair to turn away from them.

"What should we do about her?" Natasha asked. "This party was only supposed to be for friends. She showed up. I shut her down. I-"

"I'm not angry about the party. Not really. I'm mad that this got out of hand. That the media is using us for their gossip and entertainment." You leaned forward and put your head in your hands.

“I’ll book a flight tomorrow,” you said after a long silence, your tone shifting. You were calmer then, focused, the edge softening but not gone. “Early. I’ll be there by noon.”

Natasha exhaled in relief, and you could almost picture how her shoulders dropped. “I’ll pick you up.”

“And don’t say anything online,” you continued, slipping into your publicist voice. “No posts. No likes. No cryptic tweets. If anyone asks, we don’t comment.”

“Got it,” she nodded.

“I’ll be wearing my ring,” you added. “So should you.”

“Always planned to,” Natasha said softly.

You rubbed your forehead and closed your eyes for a beat. “We’ll walk into this together. Calm. United. If the press wants to turn us into a circus, we don’t give them the show.”

There was a pause. “That’s why I love you,” Natasha murmured. “You’re always three steps ahead.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah, well, I’m one emotionally drained step behind. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there,” she promised. "You're not going to do anything to that girl, right?"

You snorted, amused. "You say it like I'm in the mafia or something."

"Well, you're scary when you're angry."

"I'll keep that in mind," You chuckled. "But no, I won't do anything. I don't have to."

"Good," She breathed. "I love you. See you soon."

"Love you, too."

The call ended, and you returned to your friends, who had patiently waited for you. You waved them inside. You gave them the rundown of your plan.

"That's it?" Monica raised a brow. "You're going to play it safe?"

"Oh, no, it's not safe," You smiled. "Natasha and Velvet Rebellion have a huge fan base. My father and Uncle have huge fan bases that have trickled down to me and sometimes Harley by extension. They see that we're engaged, and the narrative changes. She’s an attempted thirsty homewrecker. Stans can be rabid."

Monica blinked, then slowly grinned. “Oh. You’re planning to let the internet do your dirty work.”

Stacy let out a low whistle. “Brilliant.”

“I’m not lifting a damn finger,” you confirmed, sipping what was now lukewarm coffee. “But the ring’s going to be on full display. Natasha picks me up at the airport. We walk in together. I wave. She smiles. End of story.”

“And Mia?” Monica asked, eyebrow arched.

“She won’t get the satisfaction of seeing either of us spiral,” you said, your voice cool. “But she’ll feel it. The way people turn when they realize you tried to play a role you weren’t cast for.”

“You’re scary when you’re calm,” Stacy muttered, half in awe.

“Good,” you said simply. “I want her to hear the silence. Let her scroll through her own comments, let her PR scramble. She’ll get her fifteen minutes and they’ll be hell.”

Monica raised her cup in mock salute. “To passive destruction.”

You clinked your cup to hers, eyes sharp. “To protecting what’s mine.”

*********

Natasha was a little nervous about picking you up from the airport the next morning. She’d parked her rental car in one of the short-term garages and waited patiently, hoping the paparazzi would at least give her peace in the parking structure. So far, they had. That gave her enough time to sip water, collect her thoughts, and brace herself for whatever version of you would be walking out those airport doors.

As soon as she got notified that your flight had landed, she knew it was go time. She stepped out of the car, walking quickly to the terminal entrance. You were already inside, standing near the baggage claim, looking around for your suitcase. Natasha’s eyes swept over you: crop top and sweatpants, hair tied up effortlessly, sunglasses perched low on your nose. You looked good. Really good. Like something out of a music video. And ironically, it matched her look perfectly: ripped jeans, a white tank, and her signature boots. Unplanned, but you looked like a unit. Like a duo.

Cameras were everywhere—clicking, flashing, humming as paparazzi pretended to give space while doing the opposite. But Natasha didn’t look at them. She only looked at you.

And with that, she crossed the floor toward you, nerves tucked behind her ribcage.

You looked up at her with that guarded expression she knew all too well, but your lips twitched at the corner. That was enough.

She didn’t hesitate. She stepped in close, hand brushing yours first, testing the waters, and when you didn’t pull away, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. It was small. Intimate. Calculated.

The cameras went wild.

“You look good,” Natasha murmured low against your ear, her voice steady despite the adrenaline rushing through her. “Missed you.”

You let the tension hang for a moment before you spoke, voice calm but clear. “Did you park close?”

Natasha nodded, lips twitching. “Five-minute walk. Tops.”

You grabbed your bag and turned, adjusting your sunglasses as you slid your hand into hers. “Let’s give them something worth talking about, then.”

And just like that, you and Natasha walked side by side, rings flashing, heads held high, as the frenzy followed. No shouting. No statements. Just the calm, commanding kind of silence that only power couples could.

----> next part

yall think natasha is off the hook?

#black reader #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanov #natasha x you #hotelcaliforniaau #light angst

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forkshighschooler · 21 hours ago

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can you do some Paul Lahote headcanons where he finally allows himself to be vulnerable around his imprint, the reader? (paul lahote x female!reader)

Thank you soo much, love your works 🩷

~love, Lacy

Paul Lahote Headcanon

( Him being vulnerable to his imprint)

A/N- Thank for reading some of my other work! I hope this is what you meant!if you have any others requests I would love to write again for you!

1.It Doesn’t Come Easy

Paul grew up equating strength with silence. Vulnerability was something people used against him — something unsafe. So when you come along and treat his rage and silence with patience instead of fear, it unnerves him. It takes months for him to realize you’re not just tolerating him — you see him, and you stay.

⸻

2. He Talks About His Dad Once

Late one night, you’re both lying in bed — he’s warm behind you, arm loosely wrapped around your waist. Out of nowhere, he says, “He used to hit the wall. Never me. Just the wall. But I always thought… someday he would.”

He doesn’t elaborate. You just hold his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. It’s quiet, but your presence says everything. Paul doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t sleep much that night. He just holds you tighter.

⸻

3. He’s Afraid You’ll Leave

Even after imprinting, there’s a voice in the back of his head that whispers: She could still leave you.

It’s not insecurity in the usual sense — it’s abandonment trauma, buried deep. You catch it in the way he sometimes stares at the door too long when you say you’re going out. The way he texts, “you okay?” when you’re gone longer than expected. The way he sleeps with his arms wrapped around you, like you might vanish.

⸻

4. He Trusts You With His Temper

He tries so hard to keep his temper in check around you — and he’s mostly good at it. But one day, something sets him off. You’re there when he phases, panting and growling in the trees. Instead of being scared, you speak to him softly.

“Paul, I’m not leaving. Come back to me.”

He does. Shaking, naked, eyes wide with shame. He expects you to flinch. You just wrap him in the blanket you brought and rest your forehead against his chest. His breathing slows. That’s when he knows: you’re his anchor.

⸻

5. He Lets You Touch His Scars

Paul never talks about the worst fights. But when you trail your fingers along an old scar on his ribcage one night, he doesn’t stop you. He just says, voice low, “That one was mine. I lost control.”

You kiss it without a word. He closes his eyes and exhales — like he’s been holding that shame in for years.

⸻

6. His Love Isn’t Loud — It’s Honest

He doesn’t say “I love you” often. But when he does, it’s raw and unguarded. It’s whispered in your hair when he thinks you’re asleep. It’s muttered into your skin after a bad nightmare. It’s spoken with wide eyes during arguments, as if losing you would be the final crack in him.

“I love you,” he says one night, barely above a breath. “Even when I’m scared of what that means.”

⸻

7. He Apologizes — Really Apologizes

It’s a big step for Paul. Not the casual “my bad,” but the real, trembling kind: “I was scared and I pushed you away. That’s not fair to you. I’m sorry.”

His voice shakes. His jaw tightens like he expects you to lash out or walk away.

Instead, you cup his cheek and say, “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Paul doesn’t speak. He just leans into your hand like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

⸻

8. The Softest Moment: He Lets Himself Fall Apart

It’s a quiet night. Rain outside. No patrol, no pack, no pressure. You make him tea. He sits beside you on the floor, head resting against your shoulder. For once, he lets the silence stretch — no front, no mask. Just a man who’s tired. A boy who grew up too fast. A soul learning how to be loved.

He whispers, “I don’t know how to do this. But I want to try. With you.”

You brush your thumb under his eye where a tear threatened to fall. “That’s all I need.”

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

#forkshighschooler #twilight fanfic #twilight wolfpack #twilight x reader #paul lahote x reader #twilight #paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x yn #wolfpack headcanon

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tryandbehappy · 1 day ago

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Let’s talk about this scene and this one particular line. It was so weird.

I’ve been wanting to bring it up for a while because it’s just so out of nowhere and confusing.

The line is: “We’re never going to be enough for you, are we?” It’s from season 5, when June tells Luke she’s thinking to move to New Bethlehem to be closer to Hannah.

Yes, of course New Bethlehem came with plenty of red flags. Luke had reasons not to trust it , it’s still an offshoot of Gilead, and his hesitation made sense.

But at the same time, when he says, “We’re never going to be enough for you,” meaning himself, Nichole, maybe even Moira he’s throwing that out as an accusation. And that’s strange, because June’s intention in going was to be closer to Hannah (like WTF dude?). So clearly, that line wasn’t really about Hannah at all.

Let’s break it down.

Here’s what’s really going on:

1. He’s not talking about Hannah. He’s talking about himself.

Luke is hurt. He sees June moving toward a place that brings her emotionally closer to Nick, not him. But he can’t say that out loud. Their relationship doesn’t have space for that kind of honesty anymore. So instead of opening up, he lashes out with a passive-aggressive, bitter statement.

2. “We’re never going to be enough for you” = shame and blame

This isn’t a question. it’s an accusation. It means:

“You’re broken. You’re the kind of person who’s never satisfied. We, me and Nichole, we’re here, good enough, and you still want more.”

It’s not a gesture of love or concern. It’s a way of making her feel guilty (what a surprise). And it’s deeply unfair, especially to someone like June, who’s been through hell, and who’s trying to survive and protect her daughter.

3. There’s subconscious aggression in that line

Luke can’t say: “I’m scared. I think you still love him. I feel like I’m not enough for you.”

So instead, he flips it, makes her the problem. He attacks instead of exposes his pain.

That’s emotional immaturity, punishing the other person for your fear, instead of trusting them with it.

4. Nick is the elephant in the room. always present, never named

This is what makes the line feel so random, it’s a symptom of years of emotional avoidance.

They’ve never talked about Nick. They’ve pretended like he doesn’t exist. And now it leaks out, in one frustrated, passive-aggressive explosion.

They don’t have open conversations. They don’t talk honestly. And when tension rises, the unsaid things erupt like this, in lines that feel disjointed, but are packed with buried emotion.

5. The truth: this line is not about June at all. It’s about Luke’s own shame and pain. He feels useless. Unloved and replaced.

But instead of expressing his vulnerability, he tries to make her feel like she’s the one who’s wrong.

And deep down, he probably hopes guilt will make her stay and he’s been riding on it all this time

#osblaine #nick june

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separatist-apologist · 9 months ago

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Genuinely, and I mean this kindly, but learning to recognize bait and not engaging with it will change your fandom experience.

#once you realize : oh theyre just trying to rile me up and i dont care to give them a response #everything is less stressful #i keep seeing the same arguments rehashed every six or so months #i know a lot of people are new and dont know but the trolls youre arguing with do #theyre trying to burn yall out and send you packing #also i do think there is something very funny about someone spending all that time color coding a bait post #and no one engages with it like wow you tried #i understand the passion people feel AND at some point you gotta let it go #anyway i do feel like the best way to sustain longevity is to just block the tags/people who enrage you

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risingsunresistance · 24 days ago

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please ignore all the cryptid mod stuff happening here-

i never showed techno off after i finished tweaking his card! yes he is overpowered but that's just because i wanted him to fit in with cryptid, an already overpowered mod lol. i still never figured out how to add my own cards in (i am not a mod maker at all) so i just overwrote one of their cards. that's why he still has the cryptid sticker (plus some silly "credits")

he's designed like the legendary cards are, so the card editions only affect the background and not him. i love the polychrome one, and i like that the negative variant makes everything gold :]

he's basically canio, but he will take any sacrifice. he's not picky 🐖⚔️

#and for those who were around for the debugging process. NO MORE UPGRADING AFTER EVERY ROUND WON!I FIXED IT!!!#im not much of a pixel artist btw i hated making the art for this KJHFG #evil......... if i make any more cards they're gonna be collabs. i dont wanna make more card art ;-;#i gotta figure out how to make my own mod pack tho...#i know how the code works in terms of like. the card functions #whatever cryptid is doing to actually ADD them to the game is beyond my understanding #i tried for so long to get it to work and i kept breaking everything else in the process lol #technoblade #my art #?#i guess it counts #video #see i told you guys i would do this after work I DIDNT FORGET.. it just took me a minute to get the setup #i needed him and some ways of upgrading his edition. but also needed to win a round. that's what the cakes are for kjfhg #plus infinite rerolls made it way easier to upgrade the edition. and equilibrium deck was for easy money

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ninnihh · 1 year ago

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This is a vent post feel free to ignore but i'm just so pissed and honestly so fucking done

#went partying with some friends for the first time in ages and had such a fun night dacing and drinking till 5 am #hadnt seen those particular friends in so long and didnt even realize how much i needed to wind down and relax till i was there #but the one moment that keeps popping into my head from the night is when we were dancing #five girls in as much of a circle as we could in this fully packed bar #obviously just having fun and not interested in the company of some random dudes #and out of nowhere i feel someone grab my ass #and not in the 'couldve been an accidental swipe of the hand' or a little cheek pinch kind of way #but right on the crack so far down the middle and ring fingers fully brushing the outerlips #tried to see who it was but it was so packed there was no way of knowing who it was #and honestly its insane how casual they did it #like fully sexsually harassing someone in a puplic area with no consequenses #its so gross and kinda scary even #fucking hate it here #by here i mean this earth ihave to share with dickstains like that #stay safe y'all...

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madamechrissy · 19 days ago

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Stripper! Satoru

Pairings- Stripper! Satoru x Bride! reader

Summary- You've been promised your entire life to Naoya Zenin, and now there's just one night left. Never having a choice, or any freedom, raised to be his perfect bride- your friends throw a party with the hottest male revue show there is, and that's where you meet him - Satoru.

Warnings - MDNI- Satoru is basically Magic Mike, angstyyy, explicit sex, loss of virginity, oral ( f receiving) sweet/whipped Satoru, sheltered reader, kissing, drinking, reader is engaged (arranged marriage) so morally gray but it's Naoya so fuck him, emotional asff , open end for now! (story will wrap it up) <3

This will be a FULL length multichapter fic after I finish a cpl wips, it's been eating me up to write so I want to show you at least a preview of it! tag list open for when it's released, drop a comment if you wanna get added! it's a long one <3

Stripper! Satoru who is the star of the biggest male revue in the nation, he's always showing off his well oiled, defined abs, and making every girl there feel so good. He loves watching how they tremble as they touch his abdomen, loves the way they giggle when he dances, straddling them in their chair, brushing their cheeks with his fingers, a wink that makes them melt.

Stripper! Satoru oils his toned, muscular body before each show until it's gleaming under the lights, hips undulating as he tossed that cowboy hat into the air, clad in assless chaps and a thin tie, with some black silk on his cock that shows his entire outline. And God was he packing, the other dancers of the review get the oohs and ahs, but he is always center stage and thrives in it, in the looks of everyone dying to bring him home.

Stripper! Satoru and his crew have an exclusive party tonight, for a bride to be - and she must be wealthy, because they're walking right into a mansion, dressed up as cops tonight, Satoru loves to put on a good show for these women, his white hair tucked under a police cap, as he rings the doorbell, which opens with what he assumes are the bride's friends. They're already giggling and rushing the men in, one pulls Gojo aside, whispering in his ear - 'please, make her smile tonight... she's really...' he doesn't need the rest of the answer when he sees your face, so lost and broken, and it makes him falter.

Stripper! Satoru has never seen a bride not giggling and excited, once or twice he absolutely saw them nervous or worried, some of them would want to sleep with him or the crew as their 'last night' of freedom, and most of them were usually fine giving it to them. Not Satoru however, although he has hooked up with his fair share of women, he does not sleep with brides to be, as much as they have tried, he does have a couple small boundaries and that is one.

Stripper! Satoru still gave them a good show, he still licked across their skin and let them touch his body, he put a smile on their faces, made them blush, he made them all soaking wet. But he's never encountered the sad eyes that meet his now, the nervous biting of your lower lip as you look around in utter confusion. Your friend sighs, tugging Satoru down now. 'Arranged marriage, and he's... fucking horrible. Please, help her forget for one night?' he sees now why they paid so much, it's clear your friends love you, as the lights turn off and the LEDs turn on, your face is illuminated with red light, haunting him as he almost forgets the routine.

Stripper! Satoru and the crew begin to 'pretend' to arrest you and the girls, fake handcuffs on their wrists while the men press the girls down on the chairs, beginning their 'pat down'. But as Satoru approaches you, and touches your skin with the toy, fake metal of the cuffs, you just sigh, making him pause. The music continues, but he instead gently presses you on the seat, getting on his knees now, as your eyes drink the prettiest man you've seen once he takes off those dark shades. Your breath catches when he gently brushes your hair off your shoulder, and asks - 'Are you even okay with this, sweetheart?'

Stripper! Satoru doesn't realize, you've never been asked if you're okay with anything, your whole life was just made so you can marry the leader of the Zenin clan, so that you were a pristine, perfect and untouched wife. You take a shaky breath, easing in his presence, finally having someone ask if you were okay was something you didn't even have growing up. To come from a stripper dressed like a cop was surprising, but you instantly relax, thighs spreading just a bit, which his insane blue eyes dart to. 'I'm sorry, yes, I want to, please...'

Stripper! Satoru has never felt whatever the fuck it was when he touches your skin, the sensations shooting through him, he watches goosebumps rise on your skin when his crew grabs his attention. He smiles, looking at you once more. 'I'll give you the funnest night, I promise' you giggle, you don't think you've ever giggled, nodding as he steps back, and the men play that music and rip off the fake outfits bit by bit. That's when your tummy clenches, heat pooling, watching Satoru's body revealed as he rolls his hips, and your friends all smile at you, seeing you actually happy for the first time since you heard the wedding was impending.

Stripper! Satoru is insanely talented, not just his ripped, perfect body, but how he moves it, so clearly the leader of them all, surely they all had gorgeous bodies, but something about him drew your avid attention. You get flustered and shift as you study his movements, and his eyes just won't leave yours, they kept glancing at you, a smile on plump lips while they all strip down, and then step close to each of you, you're the only one without the cuffs, they sit on your lap instead. Satoru braces his arms on either side of you, breath trailing across your neck when he dances between your thighs, abs flexing right in front of your face. Your breath dances on his skin as you nervously exhale, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

Stripper! Satoru runs the most famous male revue for a reason, he's about as charming and confident as it gets, it's enigmatic his pull, but mostly you keep looking at those eyes, getting lost in them - for a moment forgetting your wedding to Naoya tomorrow - a man you've known bits and pieces of for a long time, long enough to be terrified of him. For a moment you let go and smile nervously, you touch his slick muscles when he puts your fingers on his chest, and the laughter carries through the room. As their set ends, an entire party begins, with shots everywhere and dancing, you see your friends stealing little kisses, envying their freedom, but the blue eyed man with slicked back white hair seems to focus on you, taking your hand and bringing you into a dance then. You giggle again, shaking your head. 'I can't dance... what's your name? The real one, not the stage name' you say, looking up at him then, and he tugs you closer against him. 'It's Satoru'

Stripper! Satoru uses a stage name, but for some reason he wants you to have that name, a hand sliding down your body over your pretty white dress, addling his mind. 'Anyone can dance, you've just never tried, sweetheart' you shake your head again, but he's already moving your hips for you, turning you so that your back presses against him, and that's when he feels it, your sweet body against his making him ache in ways he hasn't in a long time. 'See, you're dancing now' you lean back against him, shutting your eyes then, just feeling him. 'My friend set you up to cheer me up, huh?' he sighs against your ear, aching to press a kiss against your neck, but knowing he shouldn't. 'You do have good friends, but I just like dancing with you'

Stripper! Satoru has you downing another shot, the atmosphere is intense- these parties get this way, frequently, another perk of being the most famous male revue was endless beautiful women, and making bank on top of it. Satoru notices the dilation of your eyes when you take one more shot, licking your lips before peering around so shyly. 'Everything okay, these parties get a little...' he's asking about you again, the mere thoughtfulness pushes you to step forward, pulling him down by the black bow tie he's got on, nothing else but a black speedo at this point, revealing the body carved out like a statue, but he lets you yank him down, eyes lowering to your lips. 'If I could, have a kiss, a real one before I... don't get a choice anymore' your whisper ends him, his heart breaking for a girl he doesn't know, even in a haze of liquor and undulating bodies, everything fades but you.

Stripper! Satoru can't help but ask in surprise - 'you've never kissed?' and you see the surprise in his eyes, you look around, the music still blaring, overwhelming your senses. 'No, never, um... I shouldn't-' Satoru breaks his own rule then, slamming his lips down on yours, your first kiss, one you will think upon when it's just that cruel man looking down at you instead. You gasp against his lips, inviting his tongue to dance inside your mouth, yours dances along his, messy and clumsy but following every movement like a dance itself. He feels it then, his cock throbbing from a kiss, you don't seem to notice or maybe don't even want to say something as it presses high up on your tummy, while his hands slip up your body, for all eyes to see. But your friends clearly are pleased- they wanted you to have one night of fun, even if it wasn't what you were 'supposed' to do.

Stripper! Satoru has you against a wall before you can blink, like a switch went off in his mind and all that turns on is you. His hands are on either side of you when he pulls back, taking a breath, cursing softly, your breasts are rising and falling as you look up at him, desire for the first time in your life overtaking you. 'Thank you, Satoru' you smile sadly, was it better to not kiss at all than to have this? 'Is it that bad, the guy?' he murmurs then, and you look down, trembling just a bit, and his instinct is to protect you when he doesn't even know you. Satoru is protective of those he loves, but this feeling makes no sense. Tears fill your eyes and you sniffle, looking away, but he tilts your chin up, swiping one off with a thumb now. 'Thank you for tonight, I see why you're so popular...' he tries to smirk then, raising a brow. 'Because I'm so sexy?' you giggle even through your tears, you've never laughed so much in your life, shaking your head, making him pout. 'You're kinda mean, you're saying I'm not?'

Stripper! Satoru is trying to tease it off, the feelings throbbing though his body, but you're too much when you say - 'no, it's because you're really something special' another tear falls despite tremulous lips, swollen from his kiss, he feels the eyes on him, this isn't what he does, never ever the bride, but it's like he can't drag himself away from your gravity. Kissing you again is too easy, lifting you like it's nothing is even easier, the way you cling to him and lose yourself as the two of you are now locked in a room is even easier. Your dress slips up your hips with a silky whisper, his big hands gripping your hips and dragging you against him, you whine out as you feel it, the sweat dripping against your skin while he barely holds it together, ignoring the fact that he knows better, forgetting that you're not his, and how badly that for some reason feels to him, while he's got your back on a bed, kissing down your breasts and tugging at your dress now.

Stripper! Satoru has his mouth devouring every pretty inch of skin you allow him to, hot and hungry while you melt under him, clothes dissolving with gentle tugs, baring you to his vision, his fingers dance across your skin like you're a canvas and they're delicate paint brushes at first, then they're more insistent, more pressure, hungrier and hungrier for you. 'Fuck, you're beautiful...' he doesn't say that either, of course he compliments, but he's never seen someone earn that title quite like you, when he frees your breasts and they gently bounce from your bra, when your nipples perk up just for his mouth to suck on. When your hands entwine in his silky white hair, and he's pulling one into his mouth, while the other hand twists your other bud taut, and your cunt starts drooling, throbbing, one that's never been touched, even by yourself. Sheltered and taught it's all terrible, your friends had shown you some things but you're mostly lost to anything Satoru is doing, just lost in how good it all feels.

Stripper! Satoru pauses for a moment, as he's licking a trail between your breasts, eyeing you under snowy lashes, watching as you breasts rise and fall. 'We should stop now, before... I can't stop' his husky declaration is filled with need, your hand rushes through his hair, taking a shaky breath and whispering - 'would you be my first?' he pulls back, terrified at the statement, his mouth wide open, he knows it's too far to do, his morals grey enough, just hovering. 'He's cruel and he's... awful to women, it won't be happy for me. I just want once, to be my choice...' Satoru swallows nervously, lifting one of your thighs now, pressing his cock against your heat, watching your head fall back. 'You're really stuck in this? there's no way to get out of it?' you shake your head, trying to focus as your body responds to him. 'N-no, there's no way, y-you don't have to just I-' he moans then, internally cursing himself, because he's already intoxicated off you. 'Your choice' he repeats softly, you nod quickly, taking shaky breaths and gripping his shoulders. 'My choice'

Stripper! Satoru has his long pink tongue slipping across your panties, hot and wet against your cunt, the material pressed tighter and tighter, you're whining out, uncaring of any noise you make, the first time any one has touched you and it's with his mouth. Satoru moans against you, vibrations making your cunt throb when he yanks your panties to the side, baring your perfect, pretty pussy to his hungry gaze, glistening already with your slick. You cry out now, hips raising up for more, when he places a lewd kiss on it, honeyed arousal pouring from your little hole. You should be more nervous right? Afraid of a stranger seeing you? But you're not, you're so ready the moment his mouth latches you're screaming out, hips bucking, whining out at how good it feels.

Stripper! Satoru loses it once he tastes you, those panties slipped down your thighs, torn between leisurely teasing you and straight up devouring you. He opts for the latter, slipping panties down your thighs and gripping you by the fat of your ass, bringing your cunt flush so he can bury himself. He drowns in your cunt as his tongue lavished your walls, while you are rolling your eyes back, breaths coming in little pants while he licks every part of you, tastebuds soaking in your flavor. He has you falling apart under him in moments, your gummy little walls gripping his wet muscle, feeling you tremble underneath him as your first orgasm rocks you so hard you can't see.

Stripper! Satoru presses one more kiss, leaning over you and slipping down that thin satin layer between you, revealing a thick, long cock, you gasp when you see how huge it is, for one moment wondering how it would fit, when he kisses you so messy and desperate, hot heavy cock slapping your skin. 'Satoru!' Your cry makes him leak precum against your inner thigh, as he looks down at you, sighing. 'Are you sure, sweets? We can stop here' again, he gives you the choice, despite speaking through gritted teeth, as if he's in pain, holding his breath and just watching you. You shock him then, hand sliding down to touch his cock, a featherlight brush that almost makes him cum, eyes meeting his now. 'I want it, please'

Stripper! Satoru isn't going to turn down your sweet plea, your desperate ask under him, asking him to take something so special, but he understands you, he knows you need to have a choice without even knowing you. He kisses you then, more intimate in moments than he has been with women before ever. His cock teases and dips against your soppy little hole then, pressing slightly and feeling your tight resistance, moaning as he does. 'It will hurt just a sec, okay sweetheart?' You nod then, and the pain hits, sharp and sweet and addictive, he pauses, letting you adjust, trying not to bust from how fucking right you feel, how perfect. Instead he holds back, watching you with bright blue eyes. 'You okay honey?' - and making you relax under him, the burn and stretch mixing with pleasure the further he presses, nodding eagerly, dragging him back down for a kiss, which he whimpers into as he thrusts inside.

Stripper! Satoru hardly holds back, knowing it's your first time, shaking with the effort not to fold you in a mating press and fuck you to the hilt like he wants. 'Perfect, fuck you feel s'good, mnh...' he's muttering those words as he pulls back and thrusts further, stretching you out impossibly, she's soaking down his veiny length to accommodate, while she pulses from her aftershocks, and you feel that fullness, you're so full. Satoru shoves in harder, deeper, seeing what you can take, your head falls to the side to be littered with kisses, careful not to mark you, though God he wants to, to bite and bruise every inch of skin with his teeth. He wants to leave bruises on your hips, fill you with so much cum you drip him when that man comes near you - but he knows that's fucking stupid.

Stripper! Satoru is pussy drunk so fast, as you open for him, as you loosen your hold, arching your hips up to meet his thrusts, unleashed as you scratch his back, leaving your marks, marks he'll wish will never leave in the coming days. You kiss across his neck, teeth sinking into it and leaving your bite, as he bottoms out in your perfect cunt, the echoes of the squelching wetness and your cries mixing with the smacking of skin, as he loses his control, and you fall off the edge with him. Moans and sighs, gasps and cries, all while he's filling you over and over, bringing you closer to the brink, losing anything and everything all under his long, lithe body, the shadows casting and stretching across the wall, of him over you, of your thighs wrapped around his narrow waist.

Stripper! Satoru has never felt anything like you gripping him, never tasted anything like that honey lingering on his lips, fucking you and dragging his tip on your spot just so, until you shatter, cumming blindingly, crying out his name as you do. He quiets you with a kiss, your cunt spasming around his cock and gushing down further, making a mess of the bed, of him, of you. You're blinking back your vision as you gasp and he leans up, dragging you all the way down his length, his whine so sexy while his head falls back, veins in his arms bulging as he grips you so tight, watching the bulge in your tummy as he slowly moves in and out. 'cum once more, please, wanna feel her again' his whisper is met with a jerky nod, when he finds your clit with the pad of his thumb, running in circles and shoving in so deep he slams your cervix.

Stripper! Satoru watches the pretty bride - not his, how are you not his? - cum for him then, thighs shaking, your head falling back into the soft pillows, and he's done for, leaning forward to pump a few more times, fucking you through that orgasm, before he pulls out with a gasp, wishing he could finish in you, instead pumping that cum on your tummy, white networks of ropes decorating it as it moves up and down with your heavy breaths. You start to come to, when he's cleaning you up, when he's wiping the soreness between your thighs, when he's holding you and kissing you. You feel the emotions hit, the overwhelming pleasure can't override this one singular feeling - dread - and moreso now that you felt this, that you know what it is, to feel so perfect and cherished by a stranger.

Stripper! Satoru panics when you cry, 'was it too much, are you hurt sweetheart or-' you shake your head, hugging him to you tightly, sweet kisses on his neck and cheek then. 'No, it was perfect, so perfect Satoru. Thank you' you shouldn't be thanking him, he musees to himself, letting you kiss him as the knocks finally sound on the door. He gently helps you get dressed, the party is clearly still going on but your friend wanted to check on you, to see your disheveled state she just smiles, rushing off and apologizing, but your skin is decorated in your blush, and he sees it, the fear in your gaze. 'Am I horrible?' he shakes his head then, kissing you again. 'No, you're perfect' and it just leads to more, he can't stop kissing your skin, he can't stop fucking into you, each time hurting less and just feeling better, letting you ride him tentatively, holding you from behind as he fucks you, until the two of you fall asleep, against each other.

Stripper! Satoru overslept clearly, as you're all ready to leave - for a wedding to a monster - and most of the men are hungover, sipping coffee and ready to go home. When he does get dressed in the normal clothes he brought with, you hold his hand, looking down and swallowing, not knowing what to say - that you think in one night you fell for a man - that you'll never be available. It sounds too cruel to say to someone, when there's no future, so instead you hug him tightly, and he holds you against him, trying to hold back everything he wants to say and do. 'Are you gonna be okay?' he asks softly before he leaves, and you smile as brightly as you can, nodding. 'I will be. Thank you for... everything.' one more sweet kiss, and Satoru has to let your hand go, knowing he will never have you again eats at him and he was just inside you, he can't even speak or answer a question, all he can think of is you.

Stripper! Satoru seems like a fantasy, as you walk down the aisle, seeing the bored and cruel gaze staring right at you, dark brown eyes with murderous intent, a nasty smirk as he assessed you. Tousled blond hair, he looks instead at a few of the women sitting in the benches waiting, winking at them instead, before turning back and setting his jaw. When you stand in front of him he yanks back your veil, eyes narrowing and humming to himself. 'Suppose you'll do' he says then, leaving you to feel sick as he grips your wrist, unceremoniously putting a glittery ring on it. 'that hurts...' you whisper weakly, and he squeezes harder, glaring now. 'Keep your mouth shut, little bitch, got it? you're my property now' you sink back, knowing then, the pit in your stomach had been correct, the rumors must be true- he is horrible.

As you sit through the ceremony, as your friends try to comfort you are sent home, as your entire world crumbles and ends, you try to cling to the memory of feeling special, beautiful, you feel his touch, you feel his caress - his gaze. You cling to it as your eyes fill with tears, as your stomach fills with nausea, as he's yanking you onto his lap and laughing cruelly at you. You think of him...

Satoru

Soooo yes this will be a long one, and dw it will end happy somehow! Comment for tags of you're interested in their story <3

perm tagsss- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

#satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #satoru x reader #jujustu kaisen #gojo x reader smut #gojo x you #gojo headcanons #satoru smut #satoru x female reader #gojo x f!reader #satoru gojo #divider by dollywons #future wips

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homeofthelonelywriter · 2 months ago

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The boys still couldn’t believe it. They had just taken down Makarov, Johnny barely surviving it, and now they were somewhere in America, in a beach house with a strip of private beach. All curtesy of Kate, apparently it belonged to her family but was hardly used, so the boys using it was a welcome change.

They had been uncertain if they wanted to accept the (paid for) vacation, but after they all finally got released from the hospital, Price decided it was time for a break and some relaxation. So, they packed their bags and flew to the States. Kate had given them a brief introduction on what was where over the phone and the excitement grew, especially when she mentioned that there was scuba diving equipment.

So, the moment they arrived, after quickly dumping their stuff in the entry way and changing, they grabbed the equipment and set out into the waters. Even Simon couldn’t suppress a small smile or hide his excitement. At first, they stayed fairly close to the surface, but after Johnny saw a colorful fish he wanted to follow, they continued on into deeper waters. And that was when they heard it.

At first, it sounded like a wounded animal, but nothing like anything they had heard before. Either way, a sudden protectiveness coursed through them as they followed the sound to the source. And then they saw it. Or rather her. You.

Your tail had gotten stuck in an abandoned fishing net and you couldn’t get out. Originally, you had tried to reach your people with your cries, but no one came. Well, except for these four men suddenly in front of you. The few encounters you had with humans so far, had never ended well, so no one could blame you when you shrunk back in fear, reaching for the dagger that usually rested in its sheath on your hip, but you had lost it when you tried to free yourself earlier.

The men and you starred at each other for a few moments, before one of them approached. Immediately you tried to swim away, momentarily forgetting about the net, but you were immediately pulled back as the rope cut into your scales. A pained wail escaped you, as blood slowly seeped into the water. The man quickly raised his hands, before slowly gesturing to the net and then to his thigh, where you could see a small knife. You could see his eyebrows raise, as if asking for permission, and you slowly nodded, hoping that they would just let you go afterwards.

He mirrored your nod, before slowly approaching you and taking out his knife. With precision that was unknown to you, he cut through the rope until you were free. Out of reflex, you darted away, your tail swishing hard enough to send the man back a bit, making him loose his grip on the knife and you watched as it disappeared into the darkness. You glanced back at the four, before diving into the darkness, after the knife. Along with it, you found your dagger, which you put back in its place, before swimming back up, just to see the four still there, as if they hadn’t moved. Slowly, you swam up to the man who freed you and held out the knife with both hands, a small smile gracing your lips.

He took it from you, nodding in thanks. After one more glance over all of them, you turned around and swam back to your home, taking a few detours in case they were following you. But when you came to rest later that day, you mind stayed with the men. No matter what you did, you couldn’t stop thinking about them. And little did you know that they had the exact same problem.

Pt. 2 Pt. 3

A/N: Inspired by a post by @beloveds-embrace. Should I continue this?

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heeluvv · 1 month ago

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˗ˏˋ02. MOAN FOR THE CAMERA

pairingᝰ.ᐟ lee heeseung x fem reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ unprotected sex, grinding, praise kink, soft dom! heeseung, overstimulation, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

statusᝰ.ᐟ 2/9 completed!

──

it has been a week since you got the message.

seven days since your phone lit up with his user for the first time. seven days since those words slid across your screen and rewired the chemistry in your chest—since that simple, perfect sentence cracked something open inside of you and refused to let it close again.

god, you were so fucking hot. why don’t you let me see what more you’re capable of doing?

you didn’t answer at first. not out of disinterest or shock, but because your breath caught in your throat and refused to let go. because your body lit up in a way it hadn’t in years. because the sudden heat that flooded your skin felt so raw, so consuming, you didn’t know if it came from fear or desire or both. you stared at the message in the dark of your room, the sound of your breath uneven, your fingers hovering over the screen like it might burn you.

and then you said yes.

you haven’t looked away from him since.

you haven’t stopped thinking about the way his voice curls into your ears, low and patient and warm with something just shy of menace—how he never tries to impress you, never tries to talk himself up, just says what he means and means what he says. you still haven’t seen his face. not fully. he’s careful with his camera, careful with his angles, his hair always falling into the frame and covering the details that might make him feel too real. but that doesn’t matter. because it’s not his face that made you agree.

he told you his name on the third night. not dramatically. not as a reveal. just tucked into the middle of a message like a comma.

heeseung. thought you should know.

and that was it. no last name. no photos. no follow-up. and for some reason, that made you trust it more.

the days since then have been slow and fast in turns. mornings feel stretched out, your body heavy with anticipation you don’t know how to burn off. nights feel electric—your phone screen the only light in the room, your fingers trembling as you read and reread everything he sends. he’s not always sweet. he’s not always careful. but he always makes you feel seen. he always reminds you that you said yes. and you keep saying yes, over and over, in every message you return.

until this morning, when the yes had to become real.

because today’s the day. tonight’s the night. and he’s waiting.

your bag is half-packed. your body is half-numb. you’ve been staring into your closet for twenty minutes now, unsure of what it means to dress for someone who’s already seen you at your most bare—someone who watched you fall apart in silence, whose voice sat in your head while your fingers pushed deeper into yourself than they ever had before.

he told you to bring whatever makes you feel good.

and you wish you knew what that was.

you tug down a black lace lingerie, something you bought months ago and never wore—something that felt too bold, too obvious, too much skin. you smooth it out over your bed with slow, reverent hands, then lay a silk robe beside it. then another option. then another. the pile grows until it looks more like you’re preparing to become someone else than getting dressed. because maybe that’s what this is. not a costume. not a mask. but a version of yourself that hasn’t been touched yet. one that only lives in the shadow of a camera light.

you fold everything slowly. precise. intentional. like the way you pack will dictate the way he undresses you.

be ready by 7.

────୨ৎ────

you don’t remember the drive—not in any clear way, not in the kind of way that leaves images you can describe. you remember the sound of your bag shifting across the seat beside you, the constant press of your thighs against each other beneath your hoodie, the way your fingers curled into the hem like they were holding on for stability. you remember the driver didn’t speak, and you were grateful. you didn’t think you could have formed a sentence anyway. the city moved around you in streaks and shadows, lights bleeding into the windows like soft threats, buildings you couldn’t name passing in patterns you didn’t register. your stomach stays tight the whole way, curled in on itself with the kind of heat that makes you feel nauseous, but not sick. it wasn’t fear in the way most people feel fear. it was quieter. heavier. like your body was preparing itself for something it had never done before, but had already decided it would endure.

the car slows, and you know before the driver says anything that you’ve arrived. something in your chest drops, cold and sudden, and it stays there as you look out the window. the building is sleek. modern. smooth walls and quiet lighting. tall glass that reflects just enough to keep the inside hidden. it looks expensive. clinical. the kind of place people rent for short terms, the kind of place that doesn’t hold stories—just moments.

your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you flinch even though you were expecting it.

unit 603.

you stare at the words, fingers gripping your phone tighter than you mean to. your eyes trace the message once, then again. it’s not dramatic. not aggressive. just information. a direction. a point of no return.

your lips part. not to speak—just to breathe. just to test if you still can. you turn your head toward the driver, your mouth opens like you might ask him to keep going, to turn the car around, to pretend none of this happened. maybe you’ll say you made a mistake. maybe you’ll lie and say you have the wrong building. maybe you won’t say anything at all—you’ll just go home, crawl into bed, and forget that this ever felt real enough to chase. but you don’t. the air stays trapped in your throat, and the words never come.

because you remember why you’re here.

you remember the numbers at the bottom of your bank statement. you remember the rent due in four days. you remember the red stamp on that envelope and the way you stood in the corner of your kitchen with your heart thudding so loud it felt like it might shake your teeth loose. you remember your first video—the shaky way your hands touched your skin, the breathy little moans you tried to bite back, the way your legs trembled when you came—and how that one night covered groceries for the week. the one that paid for a quarter of your tuition bill. you remember the messages. the tips. the strange little thrill that came with being seen.

so you open the door and step out into the cold.

the night wraps around you immediately. the air has a bite to it—nothing violent, just enough to raise goosebumps along the backs of your thighs. you adjust your hoodie and sling your bag higher onto your shoulder as you approach the building, heart thumping with a rhythm that doesn’t match your pace. the inside is even quieter than it looked from the outside—soft lighting, clean tile, no front desk, no noise. you walk toward the elevator like your body’s been programmed to do it, and when the doors open with a sound that feels too loud in your ears, you step inside and keep your eyes down.

the mirrored walls don’t help. they catch you from every angle, all soft curves and stiff limbs and the subtle trembling of your fingers where they press against your thigh. you don’t look at your face. you know what you’ll see. too much. too vulnerable. too obvious.

the ride is short but unbearable.

each number lights up like a warning.

and then the doors part again, and you’re stepping into a hallway that looks like all the others—long, narrow, lit with warm bulbs that hum faintly overhead. the carpet swallows the sound of your steps. you feel like a ghost. like someone halfway between becoming and undoing.

unit 603 is near the end.

you don’t rush toward it. you walk slowly. deliberately. like your body is stalling, trying to delay what’s inevitable. like maybe if you just slow down enough, the tension will go away. the heat in your stomach will ease.

it doesn’t.

you stop in front of the door and just stand there. you don’t reach for the handle. you don’t knock. you don’t breathe. you just… exist, trembling slightly, caught in the kind of silence that feels like it should be protected.

your eyes drop to your feet. you shift your weight. the strap of your bag digs into your shoulder, and your hand reaches for it without thinking, like it might steady you. your other hand hovers near the door, fingers flexing once, twice, like they want to touch something they don’t believe they deserve.

you don’t knock.

you don’t have to.

you could leave.

you could turn around right now. no one’s seen you yet. you could head back to the elevator, back down to the street, call a new ride, go home, crawl into your bed and cry about it later. tell yourself you’ll find a different way to get the money. a different life.

your heel shifts.

your body starts to turn.

and then, quietly—smoothly—the door opens.

you freeze.

the hallway holds its breath with you.

you don’t know what you expected to see. you don’t know what you hoped he’d look like. you don’t know if you even dared to imagine. maybe you thought he wouldn’t answer. maybe you thought you’d stand out here until the hallway lights went out and the quiet pressed into your lungs so tightly you couldn’t take it anymore. maybe you thought you’d be strong enough to leave.

but now the door is open.

and he’s real.

and everything in your body goes still.

your eyes widen instantly, and for a full second—maybe two—you forget how to move. your fingers curl tighter around the strap of your bag, breath caught at the base of your throat, chest tightening like it’s reacting to something it never thought it would see in real life. because there he is. standing just inches from you. real. solid. and so painfully beautiful it almost feels cruel.

he’s tall, taller than you imagined, his frame filling the doorway with a presence that makes everything behind him blur. his body is broad and built in a way that feels effortless, like he was never trying to be impressive—he just is. his arms are bare, exposed by the loose black tank that clings to the outline of his torso and drapes perfectly over the swell of his chest. his skin is smooth and golden, glowing faintly under the warm hall light, veins barely visible where they run down his thick forearms. he looks strong in the way that matters—not for show, not posed—but like he knows how to use every inch of himself. like he could hold you up and tear you open in the same breath.

his hair is the same cotton candy pink from his previews, but messier now—soft strands falling over his forehead in loose waves, the ends curling just slightly where they brush against his temple. it looks like he’s been running his hands through it all day, and the idea of those hands—big, rough, ringed—tangled in your hair, gripping your hips, wrapped around your throat—makes your stomach twist so tightly you have to shift your weight. a few strands cling to the side of his cheek, the light catching on the moisture like maybe he just showered, or maybe he’s been waiting. pacing. preparing.

his ears are a constellation of silver, pierced through with hoops and cuffs and studs that glitter faintly each time he shifts. one of them dangles slightly—a thin, delicate chain brushing the edge of his jaw. and then your eyes land on his mouth.

and you stop thinking altogether.

his lips are almost too pink. full, soft-looking, the kind that look like they’d leave a stain on your skin no matter where they touched. he has the faintest indent of a bite mark on the lower one, like he’d been chewing at it without realizing, and it glistens slightly with the sheen of spit or gloss or both. you don’t know if you want to kiss him or watch him speak. maybe both. maybe forever.

and then his eyes meet yours.

brown. impossibly dark, but warm. deep in a way that makes you feel like you’ve already said too much, like he’s pulling the truth out of you just by looking. they glimmer faintly in the low light, lined with thick lashes that make him look devastatingly pretty and disarmingly unreadable all at once. there’s a slight drop to his gaze, heavy-lidded like he’s already seeing you undressed. like he’s been seeing you that way from the moment you said yes.

they remind you of boba pearls—glossy and rich and bottomless. and just as dangerous. you feel like you could fall into them without realizing you were drowning until it was already too late.

you’re frozen.

completely and utterly off guard.

this is not what you expected. not what you prepared for. not the image you tried to sketch in your head based on his previews. you thought he might be attractive, sure—maybe even cocky. you assumed he’d be confident, comfortable in his skin, maybe a little smug about how much he’s watched you. but this?

this is something else entirely.

he’s not just beautiful. he’s unreal. he looks like something that stepped out of the fantasy you didn’t even know how to finish. and he’s looking at you like you’re the one that took too long to arrive.

he smirks, soft and knowing.

“i knew you’d still be here.”

his voice doesn’t just sound good. it sounds dangerous. smooth and rich and low enough to sink through the fabric of your hoodie and press directly into your skin. it’s slower than you expected, a little raspier, like it’s made for private conversations and whispered commands. it doesn’t rise above a murmur, but it fills the space between you completely. it curls under your ears and down your neck and makes your stomach dip so hard it steals your balance for half a second.

you swallow, but your throat is dry.

your heart flutters violently against your ribs, pounding loud enough you wonder if he can hear it. your lips part slightly, maybe to say something, maybe just to breathe, but no sound comes out. your tongue feels too heavy. your mouth is too unsure. and the last thing you want to do is stutter over yourself while he’s standing there, relaxed and perfect and waiting.

your eyebrows pinch together without meaning to—just a small, confused furrow, like your body is trying to process what your brain can’t catch up to. you hadn’t thought this far ahead. hadn’t planned for what it would feel like to be seen like this. not through a screen. not through a message. but here. in person. under his eyes.

you thought you were prepared.

you were wrong.

he doesn’t say anything at first. he just stands there in the doorway, holding it open like it weighs nothing, while your whole body feels impossibly heavy. his gaze is steady, quiet, unwavering—not intense, not invasive, just there. patient. like he’s not surprised you showed up, like he always knew you would. like this moment was never a question.

when he finally shifts to the side, it’s a small, effortless movement—barely more than a step—but it sends something sharp through your chest. he doesn’t gesture. he doesn’t usher you in or flash a grin or try to ease the nerves that are curling tighter in your stomach. he just opens the space. clears the path. leaves it entirely up to you.

you hesitate for a beat longer than you mean to. the hallway feels colder now, the air thinner somehow. your fingers twitch where they’re clenched around the strap of your bag, your heartbeat pressing against the inside of your ribs like it wants out. but your legs move. maybe from instinct, maybe from need, maybe because part of you knows that if you don’t do it now, you never will.

you cross the threshold.

the air inside is warm—soft and still, carrying the faintest trace of something unfamiliar and expensive, something dark and clean and musky like amber or smoke. it hits you in a slow wave, curling up your nose and settling in the back of your throat. you take a shallow breath, then another, but it doesn’t help. everything feels too quiet now. too private. the silence inside the apartment is thicker than the silence outside, not empty, but full—of tension, of weight, of waiting. like the walls know what’s about to happen. like they’ve already seen it a hundred times.

you take a few careful steps forward and stop just inside, unsure what to do with yourself. unsure where to stand, unsure what to look at. your body is taut with nerves and anticipation, your hands suddenly too aware of themselves. your mouth is dry. the sound of the door clicking closed behind you is sharp in your ears, the lock sliding into place like a thread being pulled tight.

you don’t turn to look at him. you can’t. not yet.

his apartment is clean, but not in a soulless way. everything is curated. intentional. the lights are low and warm, tucked beneath shelves and mounted in corners, glowing like dusk instead of buzzing like daylight. the walls are matte, smooth concrete or something close to it, and the furniture is dark—black, deep gray, the kind of colors that drink light instead of reflecting it. a massive bed dominates the space, not tucked into a corner, not hidden behind doors, but bold and unashamed in the middle of the room. the sheets are dark. rumpled. there's a throw blanket tangled at the end, half falling over the side. and scattered around the perimeter of the space, you spot his gear—tripods, light stands, cameras. they’re sleek and familiar, but somehow more intimidating now that they’re not behind a screen.

he gestures toward the kitchen with a small tilt of his head, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back as he leads the way, not forceful—just present. his touch is gentle, careful, a whisper against fabric that leaves warmth in its place as you follow the slow rhythm of his stride. the kitchen glows in soft amber light, casting long shadows across the clean counters and illuminating the faint sheen of condensation on the glass he’s set out for you. it’s quiet here, the kind of quiet that doesn’t press but cradles, wrapping around your shoulders like a weighted blanket. he moves like the silence belongs to him, like he’s always known how to make space feel soft instead of suffocating. the air smells like faint vanilla and spice, like clean linen and a memory you can’t name. you slide onto the stool he pulled out for you, your palms damp against your thighs, the hem of your hoodie gathered loosely in your grip. heeseung remains standing across from you, arms braced on the counter, eyes soft but intent as they meet yours.

“before anything else,” he begins, voice low and smooth, every word laid down like silk on stone, “i want to talk about boundaries.” he doesn’t blink too much when he speaks, doesn’t fidget, just holds your gaze with something steady, like it’s not a challenge but a promise. his hands spread slightly against the marble surface, fingers relaxed, the veins on his forearms faint but visible beneath warm skin. he’s not performing. he’s not playing a part. it’s in the way he waits—silent after each phrase, giving you room to process, not expecting your answer before you’re ready to offer it. “if there’s anything you don’t want to do, say it. if you change your mind mid-way, say it. we stop whenever you say stop, and i won’t ask why.” there’s nothing rehearsed in his tone, no false sweetness, only care shaped by confidence and restraint.

you nod slowly, your eyes dipping toward the glass he set in front of you, its surface dewy against the soft light. your throat is dry, but your voice finds its way through the haze, low and hesitant but certain. “i’m okay with most things,” you say, the words trembling slightly as they leave your lips. he nods as you speak, never interrupting, never shifting his weight too abruptly, like he wants you to feel the space between each word instead of rushing past it. “but it’s been a while,” you admit, your shoulders curling inward slightly, your hands clasping together in your lap. he doesn’t react with surprise or even curiosity—just attentiveness, the kind that feels like a door being held open instead of a window being peered into. “and… i don’t want to show my face,” you finish, the truth dropping into the space between you with more weight than anything else you’ve said. “i want to stay anonymous.”

his expression doesn’t flicker, doesn’t shift into confusion or disappointment—it deepens, softens even, like your request settles into place with ease. “we’ll work around that,” he says, the certainty in his voice firm enough to anchor you, even as your nerves start to pool low in your stomach again. “no face, no identifiers. close shots, over-the-shoulder angles, shallow focus. i’ve done it before, and it works.” he moves slightly, adjusting the way he leans against the counter, one hand tapping once against the glass as if to ground the moment. “this is about what makes you feel good, not what the camera sees,” he adds, voice dipping even lower, like it’s meant to reach beneath your skin. “if you don’t want the world to know it’s you, then they won’t.” your chest eases at that, something unspoken unraveling in your lungs. he doesn’t ask why. he just honors the request like it’s law.

you look up at him then, really look, and his gaze hasn’t drifted once—it’s still locked to yours, patient, open, unreadable but safe. he hasn’t made a single move to close the distance between you again, even though it would be easy. his restraint isn’t cold—it’s reverent, like he’s watching you bloom slowly and doesn’t want to bruise the petals. “thank you,” you say, quieter this time, the words heavy with relief you didn’t realize you were holding. he nods, a small motion that carries more weight than it should, then steps back just enough to gesture toward the hallway. “bathroom’s on the left if you want to change,” he says. “take your time.” you slide off the stool with a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your legs moving on instinct, the pulse between your ribs still uneven but quieter now. you clutch your bag loosely, fingers curled around the strap like a lifeline, and head towards the quiet hall.

the bathroom is clean and warm, wrapped in that same subtle scent of something smooth and expensive and low—soap and eucalyptus and a hint of whatever lived beneath his skin. you lock the door behind you gently, setting your bag on the closed toilet lid, your reflection already waiting for you in the wide mirror. the light here is softer than expected, casting a muted glow over the white tile and catching faintly on the metal fixtures, making everything feel a little too clear. you unzip your bag slowly, each sound exaggerated in the quiet, each movement deliberate but hesitant. the fabric of your hoodie feels heavier now, like it doesn’t want to be peeled away, but you force your hands to keep moving. you fold your jeans with care and lift the set from your bag, the lace cool against your fingers. you pull it on carefully, the straps snug where they wrap around your shoulders, the softness of the fabric suddenly feeling like too much.

you face the mirror again, eyes sweeping slowly over the new version of yourself standing there—exposed, yes, but not ruined. the lingerie hugs you in all the places you thought you wanted to hide, lifting and shaping you into something elegant, something quiet but striking. but even as you look, your stomach knots. you think of the camera. of your body in motion. of being watched, of being remembered. of existing somewhere outside yourself. the doubts creep in slowly, delicate as poison—what if you look awkward? what if you can’t do it? what if he’s disappointed the second he sees you? your fingers brace against the sink, palms flat, knuckles pale, your breathing shallow and uneven. for a moment, you wonder if you should leave before it starts.

but then you think of his voice again—measured, thoughtful, unrushed. you’re in control here. you remember how he looked at you—not like something to consume, but something to hold, to coax open with time. your chest rises and falls once more, slower this time, deeper, steadier. you adjust one last strap, swipe your thumb beneath your bottom lip, and blink once at your reflection. she doesn’t look scared anymore. she looks like someone beginning. you reach for the doorknob and step out into the hallway, the cool air brushing against your skin, your pulse quickening with every step back toward him. and you know, as your bare feet sink silently into the dark flooring—that you’re about to let someone see you, truly, maybe for the first time.

when you return to the room, the silence greets you like a held breath, still and warm and heavier now, coiled around the soft glow of ambient light and the faint hum of something electric in the walls. heeseung is standing near the kitchen still, his posture easy but not casual, one hand resting lightly against the counter, the other falling slowly to his side as he looks at you. his eyes catch on the shape of you like he wasn’t prepared, like he thought he was but somehow still feels like the floor just dropped out beneath him. his gaze sweeps down, slow and deliberate, not in hunger but in reverence, like he’s taking in something rare he’s never seen in full daylight. he doesn’t speak right away, but the silence between you blooms like a confession, every second weighted with something unspoken but deeply understood. your bare feet shift against the hardwood, the coolness of it whispering up your calves, grounding you even as your breath begins to shallow. his lips part slightly, like he wants to say something—maybe a compliment, maybe a request—but nothing comes. and then finally, slowly, he steps forward.

his approach is quiet, not calculated but intentional, his body moving like it already knows how not to startle you, how not to rush, how not to steal. he stops a foot away from you, eyes still holding yours, one corner of his mouth lifted in something soft, something just shy of a smile. you can feel the heat radiating off of him now, feel the quiet pressure of his presence like it’s brushing against your collarbone, your ribs, your thighs. his hand lifts slowly, fingers hovering just beside your arm, and he doesn’t touch you—just lets the air between your skin and his feel thicker than it should. his voice, when it comes, is low and quiet and perfectly clear. “can i show you where we’ll start?” he asks. your lips part, and your nod is small, breathless, but sure. he waits a second longer, then gently tilts his head toward the center of the room.

the bed looks larger now than it did earlier, all shadow and suggestion, the dark linens catching the warm light and folding it into softness. you follow him slowly, each step silent, deliberate, your nerves curling into your spine and blooming down your arms like smoke. the mattress dips faintly under your weight as you sit, the fabric cool beneath your thighs, your back straight but uncertain. heeseung lowers himself beside you, not quite touching, his knees bent and body angled toward yours like he’s shielding you from the rest of the room. his hand rests on the bed between you, close enough that your pinky grazes his knuckle, but he still doesn’t reach. his eyes find yours again, deeper now, full of something steadier than want. he breathes in, slow and even, his tongue wetting his bottom lip before he speaks. “can i kiss you?” he asks, and it’s not a whisper—it’s a vow.

your heart stutters in your chest, not from fear, not from surprise, but from the weight of being asked—of being given the choice. the air around you hums with heat, not the kind that scorches but the kind that builds, lingers, waits for ignition. you meet his eyes fully now, let yourself hold there, let him see what it means for you to say yes. your voice is quiet when it comes, but steady, a single word laced with permission. “yes.” he doesn’t move all at once—he moves like something precious, something unfolding, his hand lifting first to cup your jaw, fingers warm where they press against your cheek. your breath catches when he leans in, not because you’re afraid, but because you’ve never been kissed like this—not yet, not even now. his nose brushes yours, a breath shared in the space between, and then, gently, he closes the gap.

his lips are soft but sure, pressing against yours with a slow ache that makes your knees curl into the mattress and your fingers tighten in your lap. he kisses you like he’s reading you, like every tilt of his head is a question and every pull of his lips is an answer you didn’t know you could give. his hand stays on your jaw, his thumb tracing lightly against your cheekbone, grounding you even as your pulse picks up. there’s no rush, no hunger, no desperation—just heat, slow and sinking, pouring into your spine and rising up behind your ribs. you kiss him back with equal weight, not matching his rhythm but meeting it, finding your own within it. the room feels quieter now, the lights dimmer, the air denser with the sound of your shared breathing and the subtle hitch of your chest when he shifts closer. his other hand moves to your thigh, not gripping, just resting there, heavy and warm.

when he pulls back, it’s not abrupt—it’s a soft retreat, like he’s giving you time to breathe, to think, to want more. he stays close, his forehead resting lightly against yours, the bridge of his nose brushing your own, his thumb still stroking your cheek. his eyes are closed for a moment, and when they open again, there’s something darker in them—still soft, but heavier now, like want coiled behind patience. you don’t speak. you don’t need to. your body is already leaning forward again, your lips parting just slightly as your breath mingles with his. he waits, just a second, just to be sure, and then you feel the kiss again—deeper this time, fuller, still slow but firmer, like he’s letting go of a layer he’d been holding back. your hand lifts to his chest, pressing lightly against the cotton of his shirt, feeling the heat of him through the fabric, the steady beat of his heart.

you’re not sure when it happens—when your thighs brush, when his hand slides slightly higher on your leg, when your breath comes faster—but it’s there now, pulsing between your bodies. you’re not overwhelmed. you’re alive. every nerve alert, every part of you tuned to the press of his mouth and the pressure of his palm and the low sound he makes when your lips part just enough for him to taste you. it’s not just a kiss—it’s something more deliberate. a grounding. a beginning. and it feels exactly like it should. when he pulls away again, his eyes meet yours, searching—not for doubt, but for reassurance, for confirmation that you’re still here, still with him, still choosing this. and you are.

he doesn’t rush the question—he asks it like he’s offering you the last word in a language only the two of you speak. “are you ready?” heeseung says, and it sounds less like a formality and more like a thread of silk brushing across your skin, soft and waiting. you pause for half a breath, letting the moment linger there between your chest and his voice, letting it settle just behind your ribs. you meet his eyes, steady now, your heart loud but your voice quiet and sure. “yes,” you answer, and it lands softly, but it rings through the room like a bell. heeseung gives you a single nod—silent, smooth, composed—and then turns slightly toward the camera. the lens is positioned precisely, angled just enough to capture the space you share while keeping your identity untouched. he reaches for the remote resting on the bedside table, presses one button, and the soft red light comes on.

the room doesn’t change when it starts recording—it just feels heavier. the silence stretches a little longer, the air thickens a little deeper, and your skin starts to feel like it’s holding more than just heat. he doesn’t turn to the camera. he doesn’t acknowledge the lens. his eyes are on you, and only you. heeseung takes a slow breath and shifts his position on the bed, moving a little closer, the dip of the mattress drawing your knees toward his. his hand reaches up, fingertips brushing lightly against your jaw, and his touch is warm, sure, almost grounding. he watches your reaction like it’s the only thing he needs to see to move forward—like your body gives permission long before your mouth does. “can i kiss you?” he asks again, even now, when you’ve already said yes to everything else. and when you nod—small, breathless, trembling a little—he moves in with a reverence that feels like worship.

his lips meet yours with the kind of care that makes your chest ache, a kiss not rushed or shallow but deliberate, slow and full of intention. he doesn’t press for more than you give—he lets the rhythm unfold with time, lets your lips part when they’re ready, lets the tension curl warm and slow between your knees. his hand stays cradling your cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin just beneath your eye, as if he’s memorizing the exact way you feel beneath his fingers. your breath stutters slightly when the kiss deepens, when his mouth opens just enough to taste you, when your tongue brushes his in something quiet but certain. his other hand finds your thigh again, not moving higher, not demanding, just resting there—heavy and warm and present. you kiss him back with something softer than desperation, something more vulnerable than lust. your fingers twitch, aching to hold onto something, and when they finally curl into the edge of his shirt, he lets out a breath that sounds a little too much like relief.

he doesn’t speak when he pulls back—he just watches you, eyes dark and steady, breathing a little heavier than before. your forehead brushes his, your mouths still so close they could reunite with a single breath, and the quiet feels louder now than anything else in the room. you feel his fingers flex against your thigh once, like he’s holding something back, like he’s still giving you room to shift or stop or say anything else. but you don’t. you just nod again, slower this time, your eyes half-lidded, mouth still tingling with the press of his. “good,” he whispers, and the word moves through you like heat. then his hand slides—just slightly, just above your knee—tracing the edge of your thigh with the same patience he kissed you with.

his lips find yours again before the silence can thicken too much, and this time the kiss is heavier, more certain, laced with the tension that’s been building since you stepped inside his apartment. his hand doesn’t rush higher, doesn’t slide beneath your lace just yet—it just lingers, exploring the softness of your skin in slow strokes that burn like silk dragged over bare flame. you part your lips more eagerly now, letting him taste the corners of your breath, letting his tongue find yours in something messier, something that leaves your lungs stuttering and your thighs tightening together. your fingers drag up his chest, slow and careful, the fabric of his shirt warm beneath your touch, the steady drum of his heart loud enough to match your own. heeseung groans softly against your mouth when your grip tightens—low and hushed, like the sound slipped out without permission.

when he pulls back again, it’s only to look at you—really look, his gaze trailing from your eyes down to your lips, then back again, lingering like he doesn’t know where he wants to settle most. your breathing is ragged now, lips kiss-bruised and chest rising in slow, uneven swells, your hands still resting against his collarbones like you’re afraid he might float away if you let go. his thumb brushes across your bottom lip once, dragging lightly over the spot where his teeth had pressed seconds before. “you okay?” he murmurs, not because he thinks you’re not—but because he wants to hear it from you. you nod again, slower this time, your voice catching in your throat as you answer. “yes,” you whisper, and your legs shift slightly where they’re tucked under you on the bed.

heeseung leans in again—not to kiss you this time, but to trail his nose down the curve of your cheek, to inhale the scent of your skin where it glows faintly warm. his lips press against the corner of your mouth, then the edge of your jaw, slow and reverent, like he’s tasting gratitude. his hand moves again, slightly higher this time, fingertips tracing the underside of your thigh, still careful, still asking. his lips find your collarbone, pressing once, then again, just beneath the strap of your lingerie. his teeth graze the edge of your skin there, not biting, just lingering, a question written in touch instead of speech. and when you tilt your head to give him more room, heeseung breathes out a soft, broken sound against your neck that makes your core clench and your pulse spike.

“you like that, baby?” he asks, his voice husky against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder—but never biting, never hard enough to leave a trace. you nod, breathless, and tilt your head back further, offering your throat like instinct, letting him kiss and suck and worship without ever crossing the boundary. his hand tightens gently around your thigh, holding you still as your hips roll against his palm, wetness soaking through the lace with each drag. the moan you let out is quiet but needy, slipping out against his ear as he nuzzles beneath it and hums in return.

his fingers pause just at the hem of the lace, the pads of them slipping under with a kind of patience that makes your lungs seize and your hips twitch. the fabric drags slightly against your folds as he shifts it to the side, the air hitting your bare heat and making you tremble despite the warmth of the room. he groans under his breath when he finally feels you, his fingertips gliding slowly through your slick, parting you so delicately it makes you clench around nothing. your thighs try to close out of reflex, but his palm presses gently against the inside of one, guiding them apart without force—just the weight of intent. his mouth is still at your neck, lips soft, kissing lazily beneath your jaw as if he isn’t already making you fall apart with nothing but his hand. “you’re soaked for me,” he breathes, lips brushing the edge of your earlobe now, and the sound of it nearly makes you whimper. his fingers drag through your folds again, this time stopping at your clit, circling it slowly in wet, aching spirals. you’re already shaking, your head dropping back slightly as the pleasure coils tighter in your core.

heeseung doesn’t rush the motion, doesn’t press harder than necessary, just works your clit with the kind of care that makes your vision blur and your body hum with electricity. his fingers are long and warm, slick with you, moving in soft, controlled circles that never lose rhythm, never falter. every time your hips shift to chase the pressure, he meets you halfway, adjusting the angle, letting you grind subtly against the heel of his palm. his other hand stays at your waist now, anchoring you in place, thumb rubbing gentle strokes into your hip like he’s reminding you to stay with him. his mouth hasn’t left your neck, only moved lower, teeth grazing your skin without ever biting, lips pressing over every place your pulse flutters wild beneath your flesh. “that’s it,” he whispers, low and soothing, “just like that, baby…” your breath is broken now, little gasps slipping out between parted lips, and you can barely keep your eyes open, your lashes fluttering as the pleasure builds deeper in your belly. your fingers reach for his arm, gripping at his wrist like it’s the only thing tethering you to the bed beneath you.

he kisses down your neck with the same rhythm he’s touching you, soft and unhurried, lips brushing along the delicate edge of your collarbone like he wants to memorize it with his mouth. your skin is warm beneath his tongue, flushed and trembling, and his breath leaves it damp as he continues to move lower. his fingers never stop working your clit, thumb pressed gently but firmly, circling in slow, wet loops that make your thighs twitch and your hips rock forward on instinct. you can feel the weight of him between your legs without him even being there yet, just his hand and his mouth and the thick tension swirling in your core like a storm waiting to snap. he lifts his head for a moment to look at you—eyes dark, wide, mouth flushed from kissing your skin—and the way he looks at you makes something ache deep in your chest. “you tell me if it’s too much, okay?” and when you nod, breathless and already shaking, he finally slides his middle finger down and pushes it slowly inside.

you gasp—high and sharp, your mouth falling open as the stretch hits, not painful but deep, too real, too much after so long without. his finger sinks in carefully, inch by inch, and he watches your face the whole time, like every twitch in your brow and shift in your hips is more important than anything else in the world. your walls pulse around him, already clenching tight, wet and warm and so reactive his jaw tightens with the effort of keeping his own hips still. he exhales against your collarbone and presses his lips there again, kissing gently as he begins to move the finger in and out, slow and shallow. his thumb keeps working your clit, synced perfectly with the curl of his finger as he searches for that spot inside you that will make you crumble. you can’t speak—your breath is too staggered, your moans too broken to shape into words—but the way your body arches toward him says enough. “fuck, you feel so good,” he murmurs, kissing just beneath the swell of your chest, his voice vibrating through your skin. “you’re perfect like this.”

your breath hitches when he curls the single finger inside you again, the slow glide of it dragging perfectly against your walls, thick and precise like he knows exactly where to touch without needing to be told. your body is already arching into him, your hips grinding down against his hand as the slick sounds between your thighs grow louder, needier, messier. he doesn’t tease—not once—he keeps the rhythm steady, intentional, with every motion designed to draw the tension higher, to coax your body open instead of ripping it wide. when your walls begin to flutter, tightening around him with the kind of resistance that begs for more, he presses a kiss to your sternum, right between your breasts, and lifts his head just slightly. “gonna give you two, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing over your skin as he speaks, his voice dark and low and reverent. “i want you to take it slow for me, yeah?” you nod, breathless, your nails digging into his forearm as his finger slowly pulls out. the moment his second finger presses in beside the first, your mouth falls open on a soft, broken moan. the stretch burns for a second, sharp and thick, but his thumb keeps circling your clit, and the pleasure blooms fast enough to swallow the sting.

his lips part as he watches the way your body reacts—your thighs trembling, your hips jerking up, your slick coating his fingers as he begins to move them in a slow, twisting rhythm that makes your stomach flutter. heeseung groans softly, his forehead brushing your chest as he sinks lower, dragging the flat of his tongue along the curve of your breast with aching care. “so fucking tight,” he breathes against your skin, his voice thick with restraint, his jaw clenched as your pussy clenches down on his fingers. “you feel unbelievable, baby.” his mouth moves to your breast, kissing softly over the top of it, then trailing down until his lips brush over your nipple through the thin lace. he sucks gently, just enough to make you whimper, and the combination of his mouth and his hand makes your eyes roll back into your head. his fingers curl inside you again, deeper this time, pressing right against that spot that makes your whole body jerk, and he doesn’t stop—he does it again, and again, and again. your back arches off the bed, your fingers clutching the sheets now, your breath coming in broken little pants that you can’t control.

he pulls the lace down with his teeth—slow and controlled, his mouth never leaving your skin—and when your nipple is bare, he takes it into his mouth like it’s something sacred. the suction is warm, wet, steady, and his tongue flicks just enough to make your core tighten dangerously around his fingers. every motion feels choreographed, like his entire body is synced to yours—your breath, your pulse, your need, all dictating the way he moves. his fingers fuck into you slow but deep, knuckles brushing your soaked entrance with every stroke, the squelch of your arousal thick in the air between your bodies. his thumb never leaves your clit, drawing small, precise circles that keep you trembling, unable to come down from the tension he keeps pulling tighter and tighter. “you’re doing so good,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your chest, “taking me so well, baby, just like that.” your hands move instinctively, threading into his hair, tugging gently at the soft strands as your head tips back into the pillow. he groans at the touch—low and needy—and his pace shifts slightly, fingers thrusting just a little faster, a little rougher, still watching your every breath.

your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably, the pleasure peaking in your lower belly, every muscle tensing like you’re caught on the edge of something massive. you can barely speak, barely form a thought, the only thing in your mind is him—his hand, his mouth, the deep pull of his voice every time he praises you. he lets go of your nipple only to kiss a path across your chest to the other, his lips never leaving your skin, his breath fanning out over every inch he touches. “you gonna cum for me?” he whispers, his voice shaking now, wrecked with how wet you are, how tight you are, how you’ve soaked his hand with nothing but slow kisses and a little praise. “let me feel you cum, sweetheart.” your body jerks when his thumb presses harder against your clit, circling faster, and your moan breaks—loud, breathy, raw. your hips buck, your walls clamp down around his fingers, and everything inside you snaps.

you cum with a force that steals your breath, your body seizing beneath him, your voice reduced to high, desperate whimpers as the orgasm crashes through you. he doesn’t stop—his fingers slow but stay buried inside you, his thumb softening into soothing strokes, guiding you through the aftershocks as your legs tremble and your stomach flutters. his lips kiss over your chest again, murmuring sweet, quiet things into your skin—“so good for me,” “so beautiful,” “you’re perfect like this”—until the tension in your limbs begins to fade. he finally pulls his fingers out, slowly, carefully, and your pussy twitches with the absence, fluttering around nothing, still dripping with your release. he lifts his hand, coated in your slick, and glances at you once with heat in his eyes before licking his fingers clean, slow and shameless. your chest rises and falls in uneven waves, your eyes glassy, your thighs sticky and trembling where they rest open. and all he does is smile—soft, sinful, and absolutely wrecked—with the taste of you still on his tongue.

he climbs over you slowly, the mattress shifting with his weight as he settles between your legs, his thighs bracketing yours while your slick coats the sheets beneath you. his hands press gently into your hips, guiding you back into the center of the bed, keeping you open for him as his mouth finds your throat again. you feel the heavy drag of his cock through his sweatpants, thick and hard, pressing flush against your soaked slit with nothing but damp fabric between you. the sensation makes your head fall back into the pillow, a sharp gasp catching in your throat as your hips roll up, grinding against him without even meaning to. he groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates in his chest and melts into the curve of your neck as his lips drag down to your shoulder. “fuck… you feel that?” he rasps, his hips rocking down just once, slow and deliberate, forcing a desperate moan from the back of your throat. he grinds again, firmer this time, the head of his cock catching perfectly against your clit through the soaked material, and it makes your eyes flutter closed. “so messy for me already, baby.”

your moan slips out before you can stop it, soft and high and cracked open with heat.

“heeseung…” his name trembling on your tongue like a secret that finally escaped. his whole body jerks at the sound, like he wasn’t expecting to hear it, like it did something to him that he wasn’t ready for. he lifts his head, eyes dark and wide and hungry, his breath hot against your cheek as his hand slides up to cup your jaw. “say that again,” he breathes, thumb brushing your bottom lip, voice low and tight like he’s barely holding it together. “please, baby—say my name again.” you do—whispered at first, then louder, your moan broken around it as your hips buck up into his again, grinding shamelessly into the thick line of his cock. “heeseung…” you whimper, and he lets out a sound that’s half a growl, half a praise, pressing his forehead to yours as his hips grind down harder. “fuck, just like that,” he groans. “keep saying it. don’t stop.”

you can barely think anymore, the friction dragging over your sensitive clit, your core still pulsing from your orgasm, your skin too hot and your breath too fast. heeseung keeps rocking against you, not thrusting, just grinding, slow and deep, letting the drag of his cock over your soaked folds speak for itself. every roll of his hips pushes a new moan from your mouth, and every time his name leaves your lips, his rhythm falters like he’s losing control one syllable at a time. he’s not speaking now—just breathing, hard and fast, his mouth open against your shoulder as he chases the pressure, the heat, the tension pulling tight in his spine. his hands are on your hips again, holding you down as you writhe beneath him, his name falling from your lips in messy, broken cries that make his cock twitch harder against you. “god, you’re driving me fucking insane,” he chokes out, grinding harder now, faster, like he needs the friction or he’s going to snap. “i could cum like this—just like this, fuck—just from you saying my name like that.”

you’re soaked again already, the wet drag of your pussy against his cock leaving a dark, sticky stain on his sweats, and the sound of it makes your face burn. he kisses your jaw again, his lips soft and reverent, like he’s grounding himself before he loses what little control he has left. “you make me so fucking hard, baby,” he groans, voice rough against your ear, “you don’t even know what you do to me.” his hips stutter as you arch up, grinding harder, needier, chasing the pressure and the weight of him and the sound of your name in his mouth. your fingers claw at his back now, slipping under his shirt, dragging your nails down the smooth muscle there as he grinds again and again. his name falls from your lips like a chant now, breathless and ruined and wrecked, and each time he reacts—his hips jerking, his teeth biting down on a moan, his hands gripping you tighter. “again,” he begs, lips at your throat. “say it again—please.”

heeseung pulls back just slightly, just enough to sit up on his knees between your thighs, the cool air brushing over your sticky skin in the wake of his body. his eyes never leave you as he lifts his shirt with one hand and tosses it aside, exposing lean lines and smooth muscle, his chest flushed with heat, his collarbones glistening faintly in the low light. your breath catches, and before you can even say anything, he’s dragging his fingers down the waistband of his sweats, sliding them low on his hips until his cock finally springs free—thick, hard, flushed deep red at the tip and already slicked with precum. your thighs twitch at the sight of him, your mouth parting on instinct as your eyes drop and your stomach coils at the sheer size of him. he watches you watch him, and the look on his face shifts into something darker—needier—like he knows exactly how you’re feeling. “you want it?” he asks, his voice a low rasp as he wraps a hand around the base and strokes once, slow and tight. “you wanna feel it, baby?” you nod quickly, breathless, the answer already written across your body in the way your legs part further, your back arches, your fingers curl into the sheets.

he lowers himself again, one hand steadying his cock, the other gripping your thigh as he settles between you, his body flush against yours once more. the first drag of him through your folds punches a moan straight out of you, loud and broken, your hips jolting upward as the thick head of his cock slides perfectly over your clit. heeseung groans low in his chest, teeth clenched as he guides himself back and forth, letting your slick coat his shaft, every motion slow and heavy and deliberate. “fuck—so wet,” he mutters, his voice wrecked, breath catching as the head of his cock catches at your entrance before he pulls back again. he doesn’t press in yet—he just teases you, again and again, the tip dragging down your slit, catching, slipping, soaking. “say it again,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth as he rocks his hips forward just enough to make you feel every inch of him. “say my name like you did before.” you moan it again—soft, breathless, full of want, and it makes him hiss through his teeth, his forehead dropping to yours.

he keeps moving his hips, sliding his cock over your pussy in slow, deep grinds that make the head catch at your entrance just enough to make your walls flutter and your thighs shake. heeseung’s breathing hard now, the muscles in his arms flexing beside your head, sweat starting to gather at the nape of his neck as he holds himself above you. “you feel that?” he groans, cock slick and heavy between your folds, grinding against your clit with every roll of his hips. “you feel how fucking hard i am for you?” you nod, gasping, your back arching off the bed as your body chases more pressure, more friction, more him. “i could do this all night,” he rasps, voice cracking against your throat. “just like this—grinding my cock on you while you moan my name like that.”

“heeseung…fuck..” you whimper it again and he nearly loses it, his hips stuttering, cock twitching, precum smearing hot across your swollen clit. “fuck, baby. don’t stop.”

you don’t—you can’t. the way he feels against you is too much and still not enough, the thick head of his cock dragging through your folds, slicking you up more with every stroke. your pussy is dripping now, soaked and swollen and clenching on nothing, desperate for him, but he just keeps teasing—keeps grinding—like he’s determined to make you come again before he even gets inside. he leans down to kiss you again, tongue messy and breath ragged, and his hips roll deeper, grinding the head of his cock harder against your clit until you cry out into his mouth. “say it again,” he whispers between kisses, his voice hoarse, eyes burning into yours. “say it while i make you come just like this.” you moan it again and again—his name spilling off your lips like prayer, like surrender—and the sound of it makes him twitch, makes him curse, makes his cock slide lower and nudge right at your entrance again. you gasp, trembling, and he pulls back just barely, smirking against your lips. “yeah… just like that.”

heeseung doesn’t speak at first—he just looks at you, eyes locked to yours, breath coming heavy as he reaches down to line himself up with your entrance. the swollen head of his cock rests right against your soaked slit, and you feel it twitch, leaking more precum that drips down over your folds as you clench around nothing. his hand tightens on your thigh, holding you open for him, and when he pushes just the tip in, you both moan—his, low and broken in his chest, yours sharp and high as the stretch hits hard and fast. “fuck…” he breathes, voice cracking as his forehead drops against yours, “you’re so fucking tight.” your walls flutter around him already, pulling him in instinctively, and it takes everything in him not to sink in all at once. “relax for me,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth as he strokes your side with his free hand, “breathe, baby… let me in.” you nod, your legs trembling, your nails digging into his biceps, and with one slow, steady push, he eases in another inch. the burn is intense, but it’s exactly what you need—he’s so big, so thick, and your body is clenching so hard it makes your vision blur.

he stills halfway in, giving you a second to adjust, his mouth pressed to your jaw as he breathes through his nose and murmurs softly into your skin. “you feel unreal,” he says, voice wrecked, like he’s speaking through gritted teeth just to keep control, “so warm… so wet… you’re fucking perfect.” your body trembles beneath him, thighs twitching, toes curling, your hips arching off the mattress in a slow, involuntary motion that makes him groan deep and filthy. his hands move to cradle your hips, holding you steady as he rolls his in return, easing another inch into your soaked heat. the stretch makes your eyes flutter shut, makes your mouth fall open in a breathless moan that turns into a plea, your fingers gripping the sheets now. “heeseung…” you cry, broken and sweet, and it makes his cock twitch deep inside you, his hips rocking forward until he’s fully seated, the base of him pressed snug to your aching folds. “fuck, that’s it,” he growls, his jaw clenched, sweat starting to bead along his temple, “you’re taking me so well, baby… so fucking good for me.”

he doesn’t move yet—he just stays there, deep inside you, letting your walls pulse and flutter around his cock while he kisses your temple and whispers through shaky breaths. your pussy clenches again, so tight and hot that he has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from coming too fast, and his hand lifts to brush your hair back from your face, his thumb sweeping over your cheekbone. “i can feel you squeezing me,” he whispers, so low it almost sounds reverent, “like your body doesn’t wanna let me go.” you nod, whimpering, your whole body buzzing from how full you are—how stretched, how completely consumed by him you feel. his cock fits inside you like it was made for it, like every vein and curve was molded to your walls, every inch pushing against spots you didn’t know were there. “you’re so deep,” you whisper, voice shaky, breath caught, and he presses a kiss to your lips again—soft, open-mouthed, messy. “i know, baby,” he says, and the way he says it—like it’s a promise—makes your whole body tremble again. “you want more?”

his hips pull back slowly, just enough to make you feel the stretch of his cock leaving your body, the drag so thick and heavy it makes your breath hitch. your walls flutter at the loss, already aching to be full again, but before the whine can slip out, heeseung thrusts forward—slow and smooth, burying himself back inside you until your bodies are flush again. the moan that escapes you is soft and breathless, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as your back arches, your chest pressing into his. “that’s it,” he breathes against your ear, his voice low and shaking with restraint, “just like that, baby—take it.” he sets a rhythm that’s deliberate, not fast, just deep—so deep—like every stroke is meant to make you remember the exact shape of him. the bed rocks beneath you in soft, steady pulses, the slick sound of your bodies filling the space between each breath. your pussy clenches around him with every thrust, soaking his cock with more wetness, and he groans, long and low, his mouth brushing the side of your neck. “you’re so fucking tight,” he says, the words barely a whisper, “you’re milking my cock, baby…”

you cry out his name again, broken and high, your voice shaking as your hips start to move in sync with his, meeting each stroke with the kind of desperation that makes your thighs burn. heeseung’s hand slides up your body, past your waist, your ribs, and finally settles around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, his thumb brushing softly against your jaw. “keep saying it,” he tells you, fucking you deeper now, his strokes heavier, thicker, the drag of his cock so intense it makes your eyes roll back. “say my name while i’m inside you.” and you do—his name tumbling out between gasps, your lips parted, your moans turning to pleading whispers that make his pace stutter. heeseung’s head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged, his teeth grazing your skin as he tries to keep control. “fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice raw now, wrecked, as he drives back in deeper. “you were made for this—you were made for me.” your nails dig into his back, dragging down his spine, your walls clenching again, tighter, hungrier.

his thrusts grow a little rougher now, not fast but more forceful, each one punching moans from your chest and making the bed creak beneath you. the rhythm is everything—steady and perfect, his hips rolling with precision, never breaking contact, always dragging back just to push deeper again. his hand on your throat moves to cradle your jaw now, tilting your head so he can kiss you, sloppy and breathless and open, your tongues tangling as you moan into each other’s mouths. his other hand grips your hip harder, holding you still as he grinds deep into your core, your clit brushing against his pelvis with every thrust. your pussy is soaking him now, slick dripping down his cock, your inner thighs sticky, your skin flushed and trembling. “you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he says, kissing down your neck again, “i could stay buried in you forever.” and he means it—you can hear it in the way he moans when your walls tighten, in the way he slows down just to feel it, in the way his voice cracks when he says your name again. “don’t stop, baby. don’t stop saying it.”

heeseung’s lips don’t leave your skin as he slowly starts to move again, his cock still deep inside you, twitching slightly from the last wave of pleasure. your body is warm and pliant beneath him, flushed and wrecked and trembling, but still hungry—your walls fluttering around him like they’re begging for more. he lifts his head slowly, brushing his thumb across your cheek, and you see it in his eyes—there’s no hesitation left, just need, raw and open and laced with something darker now. “turn over for me,” he murmurs, voice thick and low, like the words are dragging out of his throat from somewhere heavy. he leans back just enough to let his cock slide out, and even the loss of him makes your body ache, your pussy clenching at the emptiness. you move without thinking, already shifting beneath him, rolling to your stomach as your thighs tremble against the mattress. his hands are on your hips instantly, lifting you up just enough so your ass tilts higher, your chest pressed to the sheets, your back arched beautifully for him. “just like that, baby,” he groans, one hand sliding down your spine, the other gripping your ass as he positions himself behind you, “fucking perfect.”

you feel him again—his cock dragging slow between your soaked folds, thick and hot and still dripping with both of you as he lines himself back up with your entrance. your breath hitches when the head presses against your hole again, pushing in with that same slow, stretching pressure that makes your jaw drop open. he slides in deeper this time, the angle sharper, the thrust more intense as he sinks into you inch by inch, both of you moaning as he fills you back up completely. “fuck—you’re tighter like this,” he groans, hands gripping your hips hard now, thumbs digging into the softness of your skin as he pulls you back onto him. you’re gasping into the sheets, your hands fisting the covers, your knees spread wide as your pussy takes him all the way to the base. the new angle hits deeper, rougher—his cock dragging against spots that make you cry out, your body jolting with every thrust. “look at you,” he breathes, hips snapping forward, his cock slamming into you now with full control, “taking me so good, baby… so fucking deep.” your moans get louder, more desperate, your voice breaking on his name as you start to fall apart all over again.

he builds a rhythm that feels brutal and perfect, his hips slamming against your ass, the clap of skin on skin echoing through the room with every thrust. your walls are soaked now, slick running down your thighs, the mess of your first orgasm coating both of you and making every stroke louder, wetter, filthier. heeseung growls under his breath as he leans forward, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, gently pulling your head up so your cheek turns toward him. “say it again,” he demands, breath hot against your ear as he pounds into you from behind, “say my name while i fuck you like this.” your voice shakes as you sob it out—“heeseung, heeseung, heeseung”—and the sound of it makes his hips stutter, his grip tighten, his cock jerk inside you. “that’s it, baby—keep moaning for me,” he groans, his hand sliding down your front now, finding your clit again and rubbing tight circles while he keeps thrusting into you hard and deep. your legs tremble, your elbows give out, your chest sinking into the sheets as your second orgasm starts building fast, burning low and hot and uncontrollable.

his thrusts grow slower, deeper, deliberate again—not to ease you, but to let you feel it all, to make your body stretch around every inch of him like it’s learning him. he doesn’t say anything for a second, just breathes through clenched teeth, his hands gripping your hips like handles as he watches the way his cock disappears into your soaked pussy with every roll of his hips. your moans are soft and broken, spilling into the pillow as you push back to meet his rhythm, the pressure building inside you sharp and sweet. “you’re dripping, baby,” he pants, voice dark and strained, “can you hear that?” and you can—the filthy, wet squelch every time he fucks into you, your slick coating his cock, the mess of both your bodies echoing in the quiet room. his fingers tighten around your hips, dragging you into him harder now, the new angle hitting deeper, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix in a way that makes your back arch and your breath catch. “i’m not gonna stop,” he groans, and he means it—you can feel it in the way his body moves, like he’s addicted to the way you take him. “not until i feel you cum on me again.” his voice breaks on the last word, and you choke on a moan, your thighs already starting to tremble from how close you are.

his free hand slides down again, slipping between your legs to circle your clit with his fingers—still soaked from earlier, still trembling with how sensitive you are. “i know you’re close,” he says, breath hot against your back as he leans over you, his cock still grinding deep into your pussy with slow, firm thrusts, “i can feel it—you’re squeezing me so tight.” your body jerks under him, your hands clawing at the sheets, your moans broken and high as the pleasure builds higher, tighter, hotter. he doesn’t let up—not with his cock, not with his hand—he keeps fucking you slow and hard, his fingers pressing tight circles against your clit until your legs shake uncontrollably. “come on, baby,” he whispers, voice right in your ear now, “cum for me again—cum on my cock, let me feel it.” and the way he says it—so low, so desperate—breaks something open inside you. your pussy clamps down, walls fluttering in tight, wet pulses as your second orgasm takes hold, crashing over you harder than the first. “fuck—heeseung!” you cry, your voice breaking, your whole body convulsing under him as you cum, hips jerking wildly, back arching, mouth open and gasping.

heeseung groans loud—filthy—his hands grabbing your hips tight as your pussy squeezes around him, your slick spilling down his cock and dripping onto the sheets. “holy fuck,” he growls, hips stuttering, his pace falling apart as he ruts into you hard, deep, chasing his own release now. “you feel—so good—so fucking good,” he moans, each word punched out between heavy, desperate thrusts. your body is limp beneath him, ruined and twitching, but he holds you up, keeps you open, keeps driving into you like he can’t stop. “i’m gonna cum,” he gasps, “gonna cum inside you again, baby—fuck—i’m not pulling out.” your moan is soft, breathless, nothing but wrecked permission. heeseung groans, loud and broken, as he thrusts deep one last time and spills into you, hot and thick, his cum flooding your pussy in long, heavy pulses. he doesn’t stop moving, not right away—he keeps grinding into you, burying it deeper, fucking it up into your sore, overstimulated cunt like he wants it to stay. your walls twitch around him, fluttering from the aftershocks, your breath shallow as he collapses forward, his chest pressed to your back, sweat-slick and panting.

he stays inside you as long as your body lets him, his cock twitching with every breath, his cum warm and sticky between your thighs, leaking down onto the sheets. his arms wrap around your middle, pulling you close, holding you still as your body shivers beneath his, overstimulated and buzzing. he kisses your shoulder slowly, reverently, murmuring soft things you barely register—“you were perfect,” “i didn’t want to stop,” “you’re so fucking good.” his voice is hoarse, wrecked from moaning your name, from holding back, from fucking you like he meant it. your eyes flutter closed, your body loose and heavy, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. heeseung doesn’t move, doesn’t let you go—his arms stay locked around your waist, his cock still half-hard inside you, like he can’t stand the idea of being anywhere else. “stay like this for a minute,” he whispers, kissing the back of your neck. “just like this, baby… let me feel you a little longer.”

heeseung’s chest rises and falls against your back, each breath brushing over your shoulder as his arms slowly loosen around your waist, just enough to let you shift. you let out a soft sound—half-whimper, half-sigh—and he presses a kiss to your spine, so featherlight it almost doesn’t register. “hold on,” he whispers, low and hoarse, and he pulls out carefully, the slow drag of his cock making your body twitch as his cum begins to slip out of you. he steadies your hips with one hand, still gentle, still warm, and reaches for the small remote near the bedside table with the other. you hear the soft beep as he presses the button, the red light fading instantly, the lens no longer watching, no longer recording. he exhales deeply, like some part of him only now lets go, and he sets the remote aside before turning back to you. “it’s off,” he says softly, brushing your hair back from your face, his fingers trembling just slightly. “it’s just us now.”you hum faintly in response, eyes half-closed, body limp and heavy against the mattress, and heeseung smiles—small, crooked, fond—before leaning down to kiss your temple. “you did so fucking good,” he murmurs, his voice all warmth now, rough around the edges but soft with pride, with affection. he moves slowly, lifting himself from the bed and disappearing for just a moment, the faint sound of running water coming from down the hall. when he returns, his hands are full—warm washcloth, small towel, a bottle of water already uncapped. he kneels beside you again, coaxing you onto your back with a careful hand on your hip, and when your body winces from the soreness, he just nods. “i’ve got you,” he says gently, his eyes full of something deep and quiet. he cleans you up slowly, thoroughly, without rushing—starting at your thighs, then between your legs, wiping away the mess with care, never looking away from your face.

the rag is warm, soft, comforting against your skin, and his touch never loses its patience, even when you shiver or twitch from the overstimulation. “tell me if it’s too much,” he says, barely louder than a breath, his hand resting lightly on your knee as he presses the cloth between your legs once more. your voice is weak when you say “you’re okay,” but it’s enough—his shoulders relax, and he finishes the last gentle sweep before setting the rag aside and covering you with the clean towel. he presses another kiss to your thigh this time, lingering, almost reverent, before he climbs back into bed beside you, body warm, arms open. “come here,” he whispers, and you move slowly, shakily, letting him pull you into his chest. the moment you settle against him, everything melts—his hand in your hair, your cheek against his collarbone, the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear grounding you completely. “you’re everything,” he says again, and this time it isn’t just praise—it’s a truth.

he stays like that with you, holding you close, stroking your back, letting the silence settle like a blanket. the heat from your bodies still lingers, but it’s not heavy anymore—it’s soft, intimate, something woven into the quiet between your breaths. heeseung doesn’t try to fill the silence with anything unnecessary—he just exists with you, his touch constant, his presence wrapping around you like something you never realized you needed. his hand moves to your waist, tracing lazy circles against your skin, grounding you gently, reminding you that you’re safe, that it’s over, that you’re okay. “do you want anything?” he asks quietly, lips brushing your hairline, and when you shake your head, he nods, content to just be here with you. his fingers curl around yours beneath the towel, and you feel his thumb stroke the back of your knuckles once, twice, again. “we’ll stay like this as long as you want,” he says. “there’s no rush.”

you feel your chest swell at that—your lungs tightening with the weight of something you don’t want to name, something warm and stupid and dangerous. the words hit you somewhere low and vulnerable, curling beneath your ribs like they belong there, and for a second, you almost let it. you almost believe this could be more, that the way he touches you means something deeper, that this warmth he gives isn’t just for the camera. but then you remember the red light, the lens, the view count still sitting at zero. you remember why you’re here in the first place—money, rent, survival. and just like that, you shift again, sitting up slowly, the sheet slipping down your chest as you turn your back to him. “i should go,” you say quietly, forcing the words out like they don’t scrape your throat raw. heeseung moves beside you, confusion creasing his features as he reaches out gently, his hand brushing your back. “wait—what’s wrong?”

you stand before he can touch you again, grabbing your clothes from the floor and pulling them on with unsteady hands, refusing to look at him. “nothing’s wrong,” you say quickly, too quickly, because everything feels wrong now—the closeness, the softness, the way your body still buzzes with the ghost of his touch. “this was great. it was good.” you pause, slipping on your hoodie, heart pounding too loud in your chest. “but this is business, remember?” heeseung’s face shifts at that—something subtle breaking in the way he exhales, in the way his eyes fall to the sheets, then back to you. “i know,” he says quietly, sitting up, raking a hand through his hair. “i just didn’t think you’d want to leave so fast.” you ignore the way that stings and reach for your phone, already stepping toward the door. “can you call me a ride?”

he doesn’t argue, doesn’t beg, doesn’t guilt you—he just nods, slides out of bed, and grabs his own phone from the nightstand. the air feels heavier now, the silence between you no longer soft but sharp, cutting against your ribs with every breath you try to take. you watch him through your lashes as he types, jaw tense, his brows furrowed like he wants to say something he knows he shouldn’t. “ride’s five minutes away,” he says, voice flat, and you nod, hugging your arms around yourself even though you’re fully dressed. neither of you speak again—not until the buzz of your phone signals the driver’s arrival, and even then, you just give him a short, “thank you,” before heading for the door. he doesn’t stop you, but you feel his eyes on your back the entire time, like he’s memorizing the way you walk away. the door clicks shut behind you, final and quiet, and it takes everything in you not to look back.

────୨ৎ────

you don’t cry in the ride home—you’re too tired, too overwhelmed, too busy replaying the feeling of his hand on your jaw, the warmth of his voice in your ear. your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out without thinking, eyes widening at the notification that lights up your screen.

@heefreakshow posted a new video: “moan for the camera, baby.”

your stomach flips, breath catching as you tap it open, watching the views tick up in real time—hundreds, then thousands, climbing faster than you can process. the comments pour in, the gifts, the subscribers, and your inbox is already starting to fill with names you don’t recognize.

your eyes stay fixed to the numbers, the sound of the car engine barely registering over the pounding of your heart, the dull throb between your legs still pulsing with the ghost of his cock. comments begin pouring in, flooding the screen in a blur of praise and fire emojis, messages of “who is she?” and “this is fucking art,” and “the way he touches her???” flashing by too fast for you to breathe. the heat in your chest blooms again, twisting tight, painful in a way you can’t name—because this was supposed to be just business. but it doesn’t feel like business when you’re watching yourself fall apart under him, when your moans play back through the speakers like something sacred, when he touches you like you matter. your hand tightens around your phone, jaw clenched, eyes wide as the numbers keep rising—ten thousand, twelve, fifteen—until you can’t look anymore. you close the video, thumb hovering over the home screen, heart still pounding.

and then it hits—a soft buzz. one new message.

@jayafterhours has sent you a message.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ it's not proofread so sorry >-< but i hoped y'all enjoyed it anyways !!

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