#who is also taking a walk and is crossing paths with you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

happypopcornprincess · 14 hours ago

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Epilogue || About You

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader

Premise - your paths cross yet again, the yearning in your hearts seeks for resolution.

Word Count - 4.2K

Warnings: MINORS DNI strong language, mentions of SMUT, emotional turmoil, mentions of smoking, ANGST

a/n - I would like to thank every single one of you for your lovely likes, reblogs and comments on this series! It proved to be an extremely beautiful motivation for me to complete this story! Hope I did justice to the characters in this epilogue, and I hope you like this chapter. and yes, headcannons and blurbs requests on this series is heartily welcome!

<< Chapter 6 || Series Masterlist

Three Months Later

Loaded cheese fries, a tall glass of chocolate milkshake, and a good old american style cheeseburger. Just what you imagined your 24th birthday to be... a quiet, normal brunch in the bustling diner three blocks away from your apartment eating up to your heart’s content.

While you were busy replying to all the congratulations on your phone that had been blowing up since last night, you took a second to swat away the hand that was slowly slithering towards your tray of fries.

“Ouch.” Connor hissed, exaggerating your swat. He had started at georgetown, and had flown to New York for your birthday for the weekend.

“Do. Not. Touch, my fries.” you reply in a monotone voice, your eyes trained on your screen.

“But,”

“No.”

“I’m paying for lunch!”

“And it’s my birthday, so shut up.”

Connor had opened his mouth to argue but you sensed it from a mile away, “and don’t say that I’m not supposed to eat ‘junk’ because I got cleared a month ago, also I don’t start at the compound until next week so,” you take a long gulp of your milkshake, “I can eat as much as I want!” you smile at him.

Since your recovery, you both had gone back to how you were as kids; loving, caring, and occasionally annoying the shit out of each other. Connor had only agreed to go back to his university when you were able to move on your own and shift back to your apartment.

“You're mean.” he grumbled, playing with his plate of spaghetti, still eyeing your plate of fries.

“No I'm not. You’re the one who didn't… Connor!” While you were busy lecturing him and typing a message to Aunt May to thank her for her wishes, he had grabbed a fistful of fries from your plate, with the cheese and had stuffed his mouth with them.

Instead of saying anything, you had grabbed his coke and drank from it while swatting his hand away from your fries.

“What the hell dude!” He made another effort to squash your burger but you were quick to make a grab for his plate of spaghetti, grabbing his fork to fill your mouth with spaghetti like he did.

“Stop stealing my noodles!”

“Stop stealing my fries!”

“Hey!” a waitress whipped past your table, “could you calm down maybe!.”

Connor retreated at that second, making you drop the fork and mutter out a simple, “sorry miss.” and continue with your food, only to look at Connor and find him struggling to keep his giggles in check.

“Stop giggling,” you kicked him under the table, only making him laugh louder.

“Oh shit,” he swallowed, wiping his hands on a napkin, “I forgot to give you this…” he takes out a blue tetris console from his jacket and gives it to you.

“Awww, a tetris!” you took the familiar console you had loved so much as a kid, sharing it with Connor late nights after dinner.

“Happy Birthday, bug.” he ruffled your head and you let him, feeling content in the sense of normalcy that had established in your bond after so long.

As the waitress cleared your plates, Connor insisted on walking to your place, exploring New York. So that's what you did, walking around the city the entire evening, and gradually the cold grew, the biting wind whipped around you as you rushed back to your apartment, the darkening sky and the increasing speed of the gusts pointing towards a looming snowfall.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?” you asked Connor, fumbling with your keys at the door.

“Afternoon. I’ll probably head out around nine,” he replied, rubbing his hands together against the sudden chill.

“Cool. I’ll drop you off,” you smiled, finally turning the key and pushing open the door to the familiar darkness of your apartment. You stepped inside, reaching for the light switch, only to be instantly blinded by a sudden, overwhelming surge of brightness directly in your face.

“SURPRISE!”

The shout hit you like a physical wave, confetti rained down, sticking to your hair and clothes, and the sharp cracks of party poppers mingled with the blare of tiny trumpets. You blinked, and slowly your vision cleared, revealing your apartment transformed into a vibrant chaos, filled with the smiling faces of your friends.

An exparent laugh leaves your throat watching Bucky smiling wide wearing a cone hat and holding a cake, while Kamala, Shang Chi, Peter, Kate, Aunt May, Happy, and even Lucky standing by the door singing happy birthday. Even Lucky, Kate’s pizza loving golden retriever was wagging its tail with a wide smile on his face. You look at Connor, with wide eyes, just to find him struggling to wear a hat and pushing you forward to blow the candles on your cake at the same time.

You wanted to cry, but at the same time laugh at how fulfilled you were feeling at the moment.

“The wax is melting! blow out the candles!” Kamala screamed, and you laughed as you blew the candles, and everyone clapped and screamed as Shang Chi and Peter held you in a grip while Kate smeared your face with whipped cream, all while Connor took embarrassing photos that he said he will torment you for the rest of the year.

You laughed until your tummy hurt, and slumped on the couch after Aunt May helped you wipe your face and throw you out of the kitchen as she and Happy were on food duty.

Lucky placed his head on your lap as you petted him, and your friends joined you to sit and talk when you asked, “I thought you guys were on a mission in Hawaii!”

“It was a code,” Kamala laughed, joining your side, “all planned by Connor and Bucky.”

“What!” you look at Bucky, who was busy cutting the cake to hand out to everyone.

He only laughed “You actually thought I’d miss your birthday?”

“You bought it because you’re dumb.” Connor stuck out his tongue

Groaning, you screamed, “Shut up,” as you aimed a pillow at his face, and he raised his glass to show that if you hit him he would retaliate by pouring cola on you.

“Ookay cut it out!” You whipped your head at the source, hearing the familiar voice of your old friend.

Standing at the front door, Sam entered the room with a big laugh, holding an even bigger bag. Cheers erupted as he made a beeline for Bucky and left a big smooch on his cheek, making him fumble with the cake, his face turning red with embarrassment. Sam and Bucky made it official a few weeks before, and honestly, you were having the time of your life by teasing them about it relentlessly. Hearing the door shut, your attention is diverted by the figure standing at the end.

Bomber jacket over a loose white shirt, standing awkwardly at the entrance… his eyes met you.

He had grown his hair out a bit, his curls now more defined. He let out a small smile, and before you could say anything, Peter had already rushed to tackle him in a hug, followed by Kate, Kamala and Shang Chi. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him even if you tried to. With a content smile on his face, his laughter was filled with joy as he met his friends after such a long time.

After that night, Joaquin had left the compound to go live with Sam in a bunker somewhere that nobody knew about. Your friends were distraught trying to get to him, inviting him for dinner or asking him to join them for hangouts, but every single time he had told them he had his hands full at work; working with Sam, with the USAF, he even went to space with Sam following Nick Fury in his space station.

At one point, Sam was the only source of knowing how he was doing, and you understood.

Joaquin needed space, so did you.

And here he was, months after you'd drifted off in his arms only to wake and find him gone. He was back in your home, the same place that held so many of your shared memories.

—/—/—

Two hours ago, Sam’s Hangar

His fingers hovered over the screen, looking at the groupchat he was added to called ‘Mission Hawaii’, Connor’s relentless texts tagging him to get to y/n’s place for the surprise party. His mind raced for a way to get out of this, as this time he couldn't tell them he was working with Sam because he was going too.

Hearing a sharp knock at the door, Joaquin opened it to expect Sam coming back from the HQ to the hangar, and his heart catapulted out of his chest watching Peter and Shang Chi looking at him, their faces etched in a frown.

Peter wasted no time to enter the hangar, while Shang Chi stared him down.

“Are you here to beat me up?” he asked, looking at Shang Chi.

“The way you’re throwing a baby fits about this, yeah. I am.” Shang Chi replied, crossing his arms, his face grimm.

Peter shouts from inside, “nice place Torress, very… spacious”

"How did you even find me?" Joaquin huffed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The question was rhetorical; he knew Sam wouldn't have kept his location a secret if it meant getting him to Y/N's.

"Kate's got tracking on you that rivals Fury's," Shang-Chi stated flatly.

Joaquin let out a dry laugh, “That’s a federal offence! This is an active USAF base I could…”

“Oh fuck off Torres!” Peter twitched, screaming at him. Joaquin groaned watching how he was marching towards him, looking right at him shrugging, “we know you’re avoiding us.”

Joaquin looked at the two of them, shouting, “I’m not!”

“Yeah, we don’t buy that.” Shang Chi stated, his voice dangerously neutral, similar to when he was about to blow something up.

“I do have work!” he shouts pointing to the scattered papers on his desk, the unfinished schematics on his screen. The excuse felt fake even to his own ears.

Peter groaned, “You haven’t played Black Ops with us in ages!”

“You’re ambushing me over Black Ops?” Joaquin looked at them in bewilderment.

“This is not about Black Ops!”

Shang Chi’s booming voice fills the space, making both Joaquin and Peter look at him. He stood looking at the ceiling, breathing in to keep himself calm. Meeting Joaquin’s eyes, he spoke, "People are worried about you… both of you."

Joaquin saw the way Shang Chi’s shoulders dropped, like he was defeated, "Man," he began, shaking his head slightly, a note of sadness in his voice, "whatever happened between you and Y/N... I don't need the specifics. But this isn't the answer, Joaquin. You two were… close, before Mexico. And now? She's been in recovery for months, and you've just vanished. It's... it's frustrating watching you both fall apart like this."

“We know you like her.” Peter says, which lets Joaquin shout in response, “I don’t like her!”

“You’re acting like a kid!” Peter shouts back.

“No I'm not!” he throws up his hands.

“He’s right.” Sam entered, closing the door behind him.

Joaquin’s shoulders slumped, “Sam.” he breathed out, realising this wasn’t a confrontation…

This was an intervention.

“I have seen you work your ass off in every single mission, losing sleep and rest every single day.” he continued.

“I was just..”

“I’m not done.” Sam exclaimed, "For three months," Sam continued, stepping further into the hangar, his gaze unwavering, "I've watched you push yourself to the brink. Every mission, every debrief, you're running on fumes. You think we haven't noticed?"

"I just needed…"

"I gave you two weekends off, man," Sam interrupted gently, placing a hand on Joaquin's shoulder. "Two weekends to sleep, to decompress, to see your friends. And what did you do? You locked yourself in here, tinkering with Stark's old drone designs. You're not fooling anyone, least of all yourself."

Joaquin wanted to say something, but he knew Sam had managed to read him like a book, and he was 100% right.

"This isn't just about you and Y/N," Sam said, his voice firm but kind. "It's about the team. What happens the next time we're in the field together? That tension… that unresolved crap… it puts everyone at risk."

He gave Joaquin's shoulder a squeeze. "I'm leaving at five to pick up a ridiculously expensive present for Y/N, because she deserves it. You’re happy to join us."

The silence hung heavy in the air, the weight of their combined concern finally breaking through Joaquin. He looked from Sam's understanding gaze to the worried faces of Peter and Shang-Chi. He was hurting, yes, but they were hurting too, watching him withdraw.

A slow, reluctant nod was his only answer.

—/—/—

You couldn’t tear your eyes off of him, your mind analysing his every moment.

There was a subtle sigh that escaped him when he leaned against the wall, a sound of deep weariness. He blinked more often, as if fighting off fatigue. When Aunt May teased him about missing the cookout at her place, his usual playful banter was subdued, his responses almost automatic.

You recalled that night, you had waited for him to show up, only for Kate to announce last minute that he won’t be coming.

Months.

That's how long it had been.

Three Months of silence.

Even as the party buzzed around you, a knot of guilt tightened in your chest, the same one that had been eating you alive since you were discharged from the med bay.

His absence felt like a clinical, almost polite way to describe the gaping hole that had opened between you. It wasn't just a lack of texts or calls; it was like a wall had slammed shut with a force that still echoed in the quiet corners of your mind.

And it was all your fault.

Every unanswered message, every missed call, was a stark reminder of the pain you had inflicted on him. The casual cruelty of your own confusion, the way you had taken his care for granted, the messy, selfish way you had navigated his open heart.

Pain wasn't a strong enough word for what you put him through.

And now, watching him across the room, a ghost of his usual easygoing self, the weight of that realization pressed down on you. How do you even begin to mend something this broken? Where do you even start to fix a hurt that runs this deep?

You had absolutely no idea.

“Okayyy…” Kate waltzes in with a big smile on her face, snapping you out of your thoughts and blocking your view of Joaquin, shoving a paper bag in your hands, “time for presents!” she clapped, and you knew just by how fast Peter and Shang Chi rushed to your side that she had given them her iconic ‘dagger eyes’.

“Kate, there was no need…” you had begun trying to return it but this time you were on the receiving end of her dagger eyes, warning you not to say anything further, “but i’m so glad you got me a gift yayy!

She dropped a smile, and you opened the gift to see a familiar white and purple accent…

You gasped, holding the box like it was a treasure, “Kate, you did not…”

“It’s the matching daggers you told me about!” she screamed, and you unwrapped them out of the box to see a set of purple and silver daggers, the colors matching Kate’s bow and arrow.

“Matching weapons!” you giggled, and only Bucky followed suit, while everyone else looked a bit puzzled at your excitement for weapons as gifts.

One by one, you opened the presents from your friends. Bucky, sticking to his love for flexible weaponry, had gifted you a high-quality stainless steel Swiss Army knife.

Shang-Chi presented a smooth, cool feng shui amulet, carefully explaining its significance for "lucky charm on field," his dark eyes holding a quiet sincerity that resonated deep within you, a silent wish for your safety that felt more profound than the object itself.

Peter, ever the tech tinkerer, gave you a small, agile robot shaped like a spider, demonstrating its hand-gesture controls with an enthusiastic grin, a spark of the boyish charm you'd always cherished.

Kamala’s handmade earrings were bright and cheerful, a tangible piece of her vibrant energy.

Then, Sam’s gift.

The box was heavier than the others, and when you lifted the lid, your breath caught. High-quality durable combat boots, the kind that can survive anything from fire to blades, the kind any agent would covet. But it wasn't just the practicality; tucked inside one of the boots was a small, folded piece of paper. Unfurling it, you found a brief, heartfelt note in Sam’s familiar scrawl: "Stay grounded, kid. We need you." A warmth spread through your chest, a reminder of his unwavering support and the unspoken bond you shared.

You held Peter's little spider-bot, its metallic legs twitching in your palm, and then looked at the smooth, grounding weight of Shang-Chi's amulet. These gifts weren't just objects; they were small pieces of their care, their worry and their hope for your future.

You thanked each of them, pulling everyone into a hug before they all migrated towards the kitchen, their voices rising in playful demands for Aunt May’s food.

It was then, as you held the cool amulet in your hand, watching Peter’s little spider-bot scurry across the coffee table, a quiet appreciation settling in your heart, that Connor’s voice broke through your thoughts.

He pressed a glass of soda into your hand and whispered into your ear, “Greet him.” His gaze flickered pointedly towards Joaquin, who stood awkwardly near the window, a gentle hand stroking Lucky who contentedly perched at his feet.

“I don’t think that’s good…” you murmured, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach.

Connor, however, was already in motion, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You tugged frantically at Connor’s shirt, trying to reel him back, but he was already halfway across the room, “Joaquin!” he boomed, clapping Joaquin on the shoulder with perhaps a little too much force. “So nice to see you brother! I believe you haven’t met the birthday girl yet!”

Before you could intervene, Connor had clapped Joaquin on the back again, effectively turning him in your direction. A sudden, unnerving silence descended upon the room, the chatter ending abruptly.

The weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air, your heart hammered against your ribs, a terrifying awareness that everyone was waiting for you, for something, anything, to break the silence.

“Happy birthday,” Joaquin said, his voice a low rumble, offering a stiff nod.

“Thanks,” you managed, a faint uncertain smile gracing your lips.

After that… silence.

“Fresh hot lasagna incoming!” Happy’s booming voice echoed from the kitchen, slicing through the awkward tension.

—/—/—

Grabbing whatever seat they could find with the food at the center, chaos somewhat subdued as everyone at the dinner table dug into the absolute feast cooked up by Happy and Aunt May; hefty portions of Lasagna, coleslaw salad, loaded cheesy fries, assortments, and at least four types of non alcoholic drinks.

“Happy, you’re spoiling me with these cheese fries!” you exclaim as you took another bite.

“Well, I tried to light up the grill on the fire escape but everyone protested due to the snowstorm.” he says, filling up his plate with some cream rolls as Peter and Kamala fought over the meatballs, while Kate tried to break them off. Aunt May gave him a stern look, “Peter…”, her voice dropped low, making him freeze and dropping his fork while Kamala dished the last piece out, giggling menacingly. Bucky and Sam watched her with wide eyes, how this sweet lady could turn into a scary woman in seconds.

You shared a look with Connor, smiling at the scene, but yours dropped watching his smile turn mischievous, as he casually leaned back in his chair, and slapped a hand on Joaquin’s back who was sitting next to him eating silently, “It’s been a while Torres, what's been keepin' your spurs busy these days?” he drawled, making you glare at him as he looked right at you.

What the everlovin’ fuck? Your eyes narrowed at Connor.

Make up with him, you buffoon. He offered you an entirely unconvincing smile.

“Sam told me you went to space with him?” Bucky followed suit between his bites of lasagna.

Are y’all in cahoots? Your jaw dropped, your gaze darting between Bucky and Connor. Connor simply grinned, waiting as all eyes at the table turned to Joaquin.

“Uh, yeah. Sam and I were with Captain Danvers, and we met Fury for a roundabout. It was fun.” Joaquin replied, a strained smile on his face, avoiding your gaze despite being seated directly across from you – another one of Connor’s strategic placements, no doubt.

He was about to have a strongly worded conversation with you after this party was over.

“Did you meet Goose?” Kamala asked excitedly.

Instead of diving into details and talking in detail, Joaquin just let out a small, “yeah,” he gulped, “he’s a cute one.”

“Goose is a girl,” Kamala retorted, causing Shang-Chi to choke on his drink. Joaquin offered a small nod, grimacing, “Oh, sorry.”

Your attention shifted onto him, mentally noting down the shadows beneath his eyes and the subdued energy that shone through his light words, his usual playful banter and quick remarks missing from the table.

“Is that why you were gone for so long? You were in space?” Shang Chi nudged him, making Joaquin’s gaze flicker right at you for a second that your heart did a somersault, and then looking at Sam, throwing a small smile, “That, and other things. Demanding work with the USAF is very… demanding, and confidential. So I can’t say anything else.”

“Well I hope you’re getting enough sleep.” Happy chuckled.

A warm hand covers yours, you look down to see Aunt May sitting next to you smiling kindly, “It's good to see you with some color back in your cheeks, darling.” you smiled in response, “Thanks May, Doc says I'm good to go back to active duty next week.”

“Hear, hear!” Peter clapped enthusiastically, followed by Kate’s slap on the table and a chorus of cheers and applause. You mockingly bowed, laughing as Lucky added a happy bark and a tail wag.

“When you’re back on compound, we are surely having that movie night bro.” kate hi fived you.

“When you’re back on compound, we are surely having that movie night, bro,” Kate declared, giving you a high five.

“Of course,” you nodded, taking a long sip of your soda punch.

“What?” you laughed nervously, catching the look that passed between Shang-Chi and Connor, both their eyes now fixed on the blissfully oblivious Joaquin, silently eating his dinner.

Connor clapped his hands together. “I leave tomorrow, and there’s a snowstorm happening outside… so let’s have a sleepover!” he whooped, Bucky agreeing.

“But…” Your protests were drowned out as Shang-Chi enthusiastically shook Joaquin’s shoulders, finally snapping him out of his focused eating. Bewilderment clouded Joaquin’s face as Bucky launched into a detailed explanation of his vast collection of extra bedding.

He never had extra bedding.

He slept on the floor.

“Well, I’ll be staying over with Bucky, so…” Sam announced casually, earning a collective “oooooh” from the group.

“Who’s gonna drop me off? I came here with you,” Joaquin asked Sam, a flicker of panic in his eyes.

“Well, didn’t you hear, Torres? We’re having a sleepover,” Sam laughed, clinking his glass against Bucky’s.

You scanned every face around the table, a dawning sense of disbelief washing over you. Finally, your eyes met Joaquin’s, and in his widening gaze, you saw the exact moment the realization hit him: this wasn’t just a birthday party.

This was a fucking ambush to trap you two together.

—/—/—

A shiver traced its way down your spine as the harsh wind slapped against your face, your thin sweater offering little resistance to the biting cold. You rubbed your hands together, a dry laugh escaping your lips at the sheer irony of it all – seeking refuge on the fire escape from the impending chaos within.

Looking at the sky above, there was only a matter of minutes before the snowfall started, you pulled your beanie down, and leaned against the railing, peeking through the living room window, the scene inside a testament to your friends' determination.

May and Happy, bless their early-to-bed souls, had already retreated to your bedroom. Bucky, with a grunt, hauled a frankly alarming number of mattresses into the living room, while Peter and Shang-Chi wrestled with your couch and coffee table, clearing the floor space. You ducked out just as Connor began his frantic, loud search for you within the apartment.

You evil little shit. You thought, gritting your teeth.

The realization that this entire "sleepover" was a meticulously crafted plot by your "loving" little brother sent a fresh wave of irritation through you.

Yes, at this moment, the fact of his earlier birth held absolutely no weight because he was acting like a devious teenager dead set on making his older sister's life a living hell.

The sharp strike of a match and the soft glow on the stairs below you snapped you out of your innate frustration. Then came the distinct creak of metal, drawing your attention. A figure sat silhouetted against the dim light onto the stairs.

You turned and began to descend the narrow metal steps, your breath catching in your throat as you reached the steps.

It was Joaquin, a lit cigarette held loosely between his fingers, his head snapping up, a startled expression flickering across his face as he registered your presence.

—/—/—

"Since when do you smoke?" you said, your voice a little sharper than intended, the cold air and the unexpected sight of the cigarette in his hand making you edgy.

Joaquin rolled his eyes in response, taking a long drag, and then blowing it in the wind, the sight making you uneasy, “you shouldn’t be out here.”

“Well this is my place, you shouldn’t be out here.”

“Can I get a minute of peace? Please?” he took another drag, smoke escaping his lips that made your stomach turn.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to calm yourself. You can’t confront him, you have to approach this situation calmly, keeping in mind how absolutely taken aback you were watching him smoke.

“Joaquin.” you look at him, making him turn, his weary eyes looking at you, filled with a pleading request to be left alone. Any other time, with anyone else, you might have retreated, respecting that clear boundary.

But this was Joaquin, and the unexpected cigarette, the tension radiating off him – it all pushed you forward.

You took a step down, settling onto the stair above him, the metal cold beneath your jeans. He turned silently, his gaze now fixed on you, leaning back against the railing, the lit cigarette still held loosely in his hand.

Joaquin doesn’t say anything, and neither do you.

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy like the smoke that briefly curled from the cigarette in Joaquin’s hand. Your gaze remained fixed on his face, tracing the deep lines of exhaustion around his eyes, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy he usually exuded.

He, in turn, avoided your scrutiny, his attention solely devoted to the small, glowing light in his grasp, as if it held the answers he couldn’t articulate.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Y/N,” he finally huffed out, the raw pain in his voice twisting something inside you. You swallowed hard, a fresh wave of guilt washing over you. You sat up straighter, bracing yourself for what he might say.

He continued, his voice low and weary, “I work until my legs give out, or I’m close to a blackout, and I sleep until my alarm screams at me, and then I’m back on my feet again, trying to follow Sam anywhere he wants me to.” Each word was a small, sharp stone hitting your heart.

This relentless drive, this self-imposed exhaustion – was this how much you had hurt him? Was this his way of outrunning the pain you’d caused?

He took a deep, shaky breath, his gaze still fixed on his hands. “It just started… once a while, just to get the shit off my chest. I don’t even know when I ended up doing four a day.” The confession was quiet, almost to himself, but the weight of it landed squarely on you. Four times a day he sought this temporary escape. The realization was a physical blow.

“Does Sam know you…” you managed, your voice barely a whisper, the question heavy with dread.

“He does.” Joaquin cleared his throat, a harsh, grating sound. “Two days ago, he saw me behind the hangar at night. I’ve never seen him so… disappointed.” A tired breath escaped him, his head falling back to rest against the cold metal railing.

This wasn't Joaquin who usually found a way to work through things, to bounce back with a smile. This was someone utterly defeated, utterly drained. You remembered the nights he’d held you tight, seeking solace in your embrace after a difficult mission, the raw desire in his eyes to just feel your body against his and then drift off to sleep in a bliss.

But this… this hollowed-out version of him was a direct consequence of your actions, a constant, agonizing reminder of the depth of his pain.

You took a breath, trying to gather your thoughts, to find a way to bridge the chasm that had grown between you. "Why didn't you say anything? To Peter, to Shang-Chi... to me?" The last word hung in the air, a silent plea for the connection that had been severed.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your body screamed at you to reach out, to touch his arm, to hug him, but the distance between you felt immense, a transparent divide between your physical self that stopped you from doing so.

You gathered every bit of courage you had, and spoke up, paying no heed if it even made sense, “You’re not supposed to punish yourself, Joaquin. It should have been me… eating myself alive for hurting you like this. I…” your throat tightens, a sob caught within, but you continued, “You gave me nothing but love. Love I didn’t even deserve. I am the reason you’re in this state. My selfish nature… It led you here. It was me… who used you. And I am so, so sorry for it.” you choked, letting out a whisper, “I don’t even know how to make up to you. If I ever will make up to you… for what you did. For every single time you were there… to hold me up when I was down. And I… I couldn’t be here for you when you needed me. I am sorry, Joaquin. I am so, so sorry.”

Tears streamed down your face, as Joaquin looked down at his shoes, hearing every word you said in deathly silence.

Joaquin then stared out at the city lights, the cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers. Your words hung in the cold air, when he finally turned, his gaze dark and tormented, ”Guilty? You think you’re the only one haunted by this? Every damn night, Y/N, every time I close my eyes… I see it. Dexter… his hands on you…” His voice cracked, the memory a visceral punch to the gut. He looked away, his jaw clenching, “If I was only fast enough… just a fraction of a second quicker… I could have stopped him. You wouldn’t have… you wouldn’t have…” He choked, unable to voice the image that had been seared into his mind. He scrubbed a hand roughly across his face.

You gasped, shaking your head to deny his accusations but he continued, “I couldn’t even look at you in that med-bay… all those tubes… the machines beeping… without seeing him pinning you down… as he…” he stops abruptly, a shudder running through him, “…as he tried to…” He took a ragged breath, the guilt a crushing weight on his chest.

“Joaquin… baby…” you reached out to him, but he recoiled, shifting away from you, his gaze trained on the horizon, “You were fighting for your life… and I… I walked away with a scratch. A goddamn scratch. How am I supposed to live with that mi amor? Knowing I let the love of my life get hurt like that… right in front of me? I was supposed to protect you.”

You move on your own accord, taking a seat right next to him

Joaquin keeps his gaze fixed on the city lights, avoiding you.

“Look at me, Joaquin. Please.” your voice firm, you call to him.

Testing waters, you reach out, gently taking his chin, turning his face towards you. He lets go of the cigarette, it falls on the cold metal extinguishing itself, as he resists at first, but your touch is insistent. His face is cold when finally, his eyes meet yours, and you see it – the raw, silent tears tracing paths down his weathered cheeks. Your heart clenches as you reach up, your thumbs softly wiping away the wetness.

Sobbing, you comfort him, “You did protect me! Joaquin! The only reason I’m here right now… breathing… is because you were with me there. In that basement. You fought him. You kept him off me as long as you could. Don’t you dare…”

You sniffle as his face softens. The city lights paint streaks across Joaquin��s tear-streaked face as your hands frame his jaw, your gaze unwavering, filled with a tenderness that cuts through the cold night air. He holds your hands that are on his face, closing his eyes as tears streamed down. Your voice softens, filled with a fierce tenderness, you continue, the words flying out of your mouth on their own accord, “You are… an absolutely wonderful man, Joaquin. You love… like it’s breathing. You make me feel…alive.” you smile, “Truly, achingly alive. You are the reason I’ve been truly happy… in a long, long time.”

Your grip tightens gently, a whisper leaving your lips, “it should be me begging for your forgiveness for what I put you through… and you need to stop. You need to stop… tearing yourself apart like this. You deserve better.”

Joaquin shakes his head, his gaze dropping away again, a fresh wave of despair washing over his features, “I can’t… I can’t even… love myself right now… I can’t…”

You hold his face closer, holding the back of his neck forcing him to look at you as you lean in, your forehead pressing against his, “Then I will. I will love you. For both of us. Until you can see what I see. I love you, Joaquin. More than words can say, more than anything.”

You leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead, your fingers gently brushing strands of hair from his damp brow. But before your lips could touch his skin, he surged forward, pulling you close. You surrendered to the embrace, letting him draw you in.

Then, his arms were around you, a fierce, desperate hold that pressed you tightly against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, a muffled sniffle escaping him. His grip on your back was a silent plea for you to not let go. Instinctively, your own arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs at his nape. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin. A sob finally tore through his chest, and as he held you tighter, a matching wave of emotion crashed over you, your own body shaking with the force of your shared grief and fragile reconnection.

Time didn’t matter as he sat in your embrace, and you didn’t let go until his sobs subdued.

When he finally loosened his hold, the sudden absence of his warmth sent a shiver through you. Joaquin cleared his throat, roughly swiping at his eyes with the back of his jacket sleeve. Then, his touch softened. He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb then tracing the dampness of your tears as he softly caressed your cheek.

Involuntarily, your body trembled at the loss of his embrace. A low groan escaped your lips as a sharp throb radiated from a particular stab wound just beneath your lower ribs, the cold air seemingly amplifying the ache. His gaze, which had been tenderly fixed on your face, instantly sharpened with concern as he noticed your wince. “Uh, we should probably…”

“Yeah,” you replied, a small, strained smile on your face as you attempted to push yourself up.

“Should I…” He moved instinctively to assist you, his hands reaching out, but you offered a playful wave, a weak attempt at lightness.

“Nah, I'm fine. Just, you know, the wounds are acting up a little in the cold.”

Joaquin nodded slowly, his hands hovering near your body, a silent offer of support should you falter. “Okay. Uh, I'm right behind you.”

—/—/—

You opened the window to find The Young Avengers were sprawled in exhausted heaps on mattresses across your living room floor.

Kamala and Kate were a tangled mess on one mattress, Lucky nestled near Kamala’s feet. Shang-Chi lay sprawled on another, leaving Peter with a hopeful expanse beside him and the beckoning couch.

You descended from the fire escape, Joaquin’s quiet footsteps echoing yours as he secured the window against the swirling snow. Your eyes met across the room, and he stopped, taking a deep breath, he offered a subtle nod towards the couch. Your heart fluttered as you tiptoed to your spot, the worn cushions molding to your form. Barely settled, a familiar warmth brushed your hand – Joaquin, wordlessly offering a blanket before claiming the space beside a deeply snoring Peter.

You adjusted the soft wool around you, your gaze drifting to Joaquin. He had fallen asleep the second he hit the mattress. And even in sleep, the lines of exhaustion around his eyes tugged at your heart.

He shifted, his eyes fluttering open, finding yours in the dim light filtering from the hallway. A soft, hesitant smile touched his lips, a ghost of the playful warmth you’d once known so well. Your own smile bloomed in response, a fragile offering of hope and unspoken forgiveness.

—/—/—

The wind howled softly outside as the first delicate snowflakes danced past the window, mirroring the hope blossoming in your chest, you watched Joaquin drift into a peaceful slumber. A tender smile lingered on your lips.

The space between you on the couch felt vast, yet the connection in that shared smile felt like the first fragile thread of a bridge being rebuilt across the chasm of the past months. As sleep finally claimed you, the image of his peaceful face was the last thing on your mind, a quiet yearning for the day when that distance wouldn't feel so immense.

---/---/---

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Love y'all, Take Care!

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sergle · 25 days ago

Text

got flagged down today on my walk to get hit on

#which is weird. because. there are 1000 people living in this town LOL #i think it's funny bc i looked like shit today and i was walking hugo so i was unprepared for this possibility #i briefly talked to this guy bc it was the Hi How Are Ya that you do when you pass by another person in a small town #who is also taking a walk and is crossing paths with you #so I did the standard response and I stopped bc usually people stop me so they can pet Hugo #and at the end of the very short interaction he asked for my number. and i was like. oh! no thanks but i appreciate it #and then he walked away VERY quickly #honestly i thought about saying sure here's my number but he was wearing a little newsboy hat and smoking a cigarette #and i just got dumped. so. the odds were against this one #sergle.txt #i just found it funny bc again. i look awful. i don't get hit on even in populated areas so on a walk in a very unpopulated town is #a funny place for it to occur #i realize that getting hit on is not unusual but it was VERY weird for me and honestly part of an even weirder overall day

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miihho · 4 months ago

Note

Can you write type of guy headcanons for thanos (230) please? thx <33

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition) nsfw

English

Korean

Thanos / Player 230

—THANOS IS THE KIND OF GUY who’d shamelessly flirt with you, his words dripping with confidence and charm. He’d slip in Spanish pet names like "señorita" so naturally, it was as if he were born to sweep you off your feet.

There was one day when he suddenly dropped to his knees, a smirk dancing on his lips as he grabbed your hand gently. "I might just start my own religion, because of how often I find myself on my knees for you." He said as he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it, his gaze never leaving yours. You felt your face heat up, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks at the boldness of his actions.

He’d also call you every sweet name in the book—"baby," "angel," "princess," "beautiful"—each one rolling off his tongue with effortless confidence. And if that weren’t enough, he’d take it a step further, rapping his feelings for you in a way that was both cheesy and undeniably endearing.

—He’s the kind of guy who’d have a slow-burn romance without even realizing it. At first, it’s nothing more than casual interactions, small moments here and there. He doesn’t notice the shift—how his thoughts linger on you longer than they should, how he starts to care just a little bit more. It’s gradual, almost imperceptible, until one random moment hits him. Like it would suddenly click that he likes you. And now, he can’t stop thinking about it.

—He’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t give up on you, no matter how many times you ignored him. Your cold shoulder, your silence—it didn’t faze him. If anything, it only fueled his determination. He’d chase after you relentlessly, his confidence unwavering, his charm impossible to ignore, until you had no choice but to face him.

He spotted you weaving through the crowd, your determined strides screaming leave me alone. Naturally, that only made his grin wider. He adjusted his jacket, his confidence as unshakable as ever, and started after you.

"Señorita!" he called out, you didn’t even glance back at him, but when he saw your pace quicken, it only fueled his determination. He caught up easily, walking alongside you like he belonged there.

"Ah, playing hard to get? I like that," he teased, tilting his head to glance at you with that infuriatingly smug smile. "But you know, you make it way too easy for me to chase you baby. You’re irresistible."

You rolled your eyes and turned sharply, hoping to lose him in the crowd. But the next corner you turned, there he was—leaning casually against a wall, arms crossed, like he’d been waiting there all along.

"Miss me already?" he teased with a smirk, his body blocking your path. "You can run, but you can't hide princess. Not from me."

You tried to sidestep him, but before you could get far, he placed a hand dramatically over his heart, feigning hurt. "Ouch, breaking my heart like that? Really?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes in disbelief. "Just stop, I can’t stand you."

With a smirk that practically oozed confidence, he leaned in slightly, his voice teasing yet bold. "Then just sit on my face."

"W-what!?" You froze, eyes wide with shock, your heart pounding. "Just fuck off!" you snapped, brushing past him quickly, your face flushed in a mix of embarrassment and irritation.

He chuckled, watching you retreat with that same infuriating smirk. But you knew, as much as you tried to get away, he wouldn’t stop. He was persistent, and no matter how many times you brushed him off, he’d keep following, keep bothering you.

—He’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t tolerate some random guy flirting with you. If he saw it happening, he wouldn’t hesitate to step in. He’d interrupt the conversation, push the guy back with a forceful shove, and growl, "Back off man! Who the fuck do you think you are hitting on my girl!?" (Yeah even tho you're not his yet)

If the guy was making you laugh or smile, he’d simmer in silence, his jealousy simmering beneath the surface. Once the guy was alone, he’d track him down, corner him, and with a dangerous edge to his voice, he’d lean in, his eyes burning with fury.

"Stay the fuck away from Y/n. Got it?" He said, his fist landing a brutal punch to the guy’s stomach, leaving him crumpled on the floor. "She’s my girl," he’d add, his tone low and possessive. "My woman."

—He’s the kind of guy who can’t help but yell, "Ah, there’s my girl!" with a huge grin spreading across his face when you made it out alive. Without a second thought, he’d rush to you, scoop you up in a tight embrace, and hold you like he’d never let go. "I’m so happy you're alive, baby. God, you don’t know how much I missed you." His grip would tighten as if to never let you slip away again.

—He’s the kind of guy who isn’t intimidated by you. He’ll rush toward you, full of energy, relieved that you made it through when the lights went out. While everyone else stood frozen in fear, staring in shock, you were casually wiping blood off your hands, having taken down a whole group without breaking a sweat.

—He’s the kind of guy who can’t believe he’s dating you after you finally accepted him. Like, a guy like him? Sure, he’s Thanos and pretty damn cool, but damn, you’re way cooler than him. So, every now and then, he’ll just blurt out, “Damn, I’m dating her?” when he thinks about you, or “I can’t believe she’s mine.” and his friend will just stare at him, completely weirded out.

—He's the kind of guy who's wildly in love with you, the type to fight a wild animal just to impress you. He lives to make you laugh, even if it means pulling off the dumbest, most ridiculous stunts. His love is chaotic, loud, and endlessly entertaining, but that's what makes it so unforgettable.

One day he tried to bake you a cake from scratch, only to set off the smoke alarm—but he still proudly presented you with the lopsided, half-burnt result, claiming it was "made with love." Or he'd show up at your door with a bouquet made of random wildflowers (and weeds), proudly declaring it’s “nature’s finest” while grinning like a fool.

—He’s the kind of guy who would let you paint his nails in any color you choose or decorate them however you like, all because he loves you and wants you to have that little piece of him.

—Thanos is the kind of guy who always needs to be in physical contact with you when you're together—his hand on your thigh, his arm around your shoulders. He craves that connection, that constant reassurance of your presence. Public displays of affection? He couldn’t care less. If you want him to kiss you in front of everyone, consider it done. If you mention he can kiss you after a game, why would he wait for privacy when he can claim you right in front of his friends? For him, it’s not just about the kiss—it’s about showing the world that you’re his and making sure you feel adored, no matter where you are.

—He’s the kind of guy who’s utterly captivated by your thighs, completely addicted to the way they feel wrapped around him. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be, no place more intoxicating than being suffocated by your softness.

He doesn’t just admire them—he worships them. His lips leave a trail of love marks along your skin, his way of claiming every inch as his own. Between kisses, his voice comes out low and teasing, filled with desire. (He also loves eating you out while you're wrapping your thighs around his head and getting suffocated by it. )

—He’s the kind of guy who would cover you in hickeys, leaving them all over your neck and thighs, a clear sign that you’ve been claimed and are already his. With a smirk, he’d tell you he’s just marking his priority, as if every mark is a reminder of who you belong to.

—He’s the kind of guy who’d proudly show you off to his friends with a grin and say, “Yeah, this my girl right here.” And damn, he wouldn’t just say it—he’d feel like the luckiest guy alive to have you by his side.

—He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t just take you—he claims you. If he ever finds out you're with someone else, he'll make sure you remember exactly who you belong to.

Thanos' rough words dripped with condescension as he gripped your hips, pulling you onto his thick shaft in one brutal thrust. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to pound into your mercilessly. "You're fucking mine, this fucking tight pussy is mine," he snarled, his balls slapping against your ass with each savage stroke. "This fat cock is the only thing you need. That pathetic loser can't touch this, can he?" He reached down to rub you clit, his fingers pinching the sensitive bud as he continued to ravage you. "Hngg!...—pls s'too much! too much! Thanos m'sorry p-please I w-won't do it again."

"Stop?" He chuckled, "We both know you love this. Being used like a cheap whore, stuffed full of dick. Admit it, you'd rather choke on my cum than go back to that limp-dicked loser."

—Hes the kind of guy who loves messy blow jobs. The sight of your lips stretched obscenely around his throbbing cock, your eyes glazed over in blissful submission, he fucking loves it. Loves how you surrendered completely, letting him control every movement as he fucks your mouth.

"Fuck... Your throat was made for my dick, wasn't it? Such a perfect fit, like you were born to worship my cock." he moaned, tangling his fingers in your hair and using your mouth like a cheap fleshlight as he chased his pleasure. The wet sounds of sloppy oral sex filled the air, punctuated by your muffled whimpers and gurgles. (Gosh he fucking loves that) "Fuck yes... hngg—take it baby, take it all, you filthy little cumdump!" His hips snapped forward, burying his cock to the hilt in your gullet while thick ropes of cum spilled in your mouth, forcing you to gag and sputter around his girth. "Look at you, such a good girl, gagging on my dick like it's your purpose in life. You were meant to be a cumdump, weren't you? Fucking slut."

—He's the kind of guy who loses his shit when you squirt into his mouth, he just fucking loves it when you're flooding his mouth with your ambrosial release. Saying "Holy shit," "I love you so fucking much baby," "Mmmm, you're fucking addictive as hell, baby. Can't get enough of this sweet juices." as he greedily laps up every drop. Just the taste of your squirting orgasm would send him into a fucking frenzy.

—He's the kind of guy who takes you apart piece by piece every time he gets you alone, his usual cruel exterior dissolving into raw, unbridled need. He doesn't just touch you—he worships you, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony to draw out every moan, every shiver, every scream he can pull from you.

"You’re so fucking beautiful when you cum for me," he'd say, his voice dripping with hunger as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. His lips never leave your skin, trailing kisses and bites down your thighs, across your stomach, up to your neck.

"Look at you, spread open and dripping for me like the filthy little slut you are," he taunted, dragging a finger through your slick folds. "I bet all those prissy boys never made you feel this good, did they? They probably couldn't handle a real woman like you." he whispers, his breath hot against your ear as your body writhes beneath him. Even when your legs shake and your cries turn into breathless pleas, he doesn’t stop. He keeps you teetering on the edge, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until you’re left trembling, completely undone, and utterly his.

#thanos x reader #smut #squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #squid game smut #squid game x reader #thanos squid game #t.o.p #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader

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angelseraphines · 4 months ago

Text

ೃ⁀➷ ultraviolence ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, and a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? i hope you enjoy reading! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ choosing to take up arms and align yourself with player 456’s desperate plan was not so much a choice as it was an ultimatum. to do nothing, continue playing by their sadistic rules, meant walking the same path to inevitable death. but this? this rebellion, this gamble to strike at the heart of the operation. a blaze of defiance instead of the slow suffocation of compliance.

˚ ༘♡ the gunfire came fast and relentless, each crack like lightning splitting the air around you. the deafening staccato of bullets ricocheted off the metal structures, sharp and unforgiving. you pressed yourself hard against the crimson barrier, your heart a violent drumbeat in your chest. each near miss tore at your nerves, leaving behind the bitter taste of survival.

˚ ༘♡ the red structures were impractical shelter, offering only the facade of safety. around you, the others fought back with what little ammunition and courage they had. some fired blindly, their hands shaking, others aimed with accuracy, faces set with the resilience of people who knew they may never see another day.

˚ ༘♡ the air reeked of gunpowder and sweat, and your own breath came in short, uneven bursts as you tried to steady your hands. the ground beneath you was littered with shell casings and splintered debris, each piece a fragment of the chaos you had willingly stepped into. a thought crossed your mind, whether this was bravery or madness. but the thought vanished as quickly as it came, drowned out by the next thunderous racket of gunfire.

˚ ༘♡ you don’t have time to think, only to act. your fingers find the magazine release instinctively, pressing it hard. the spent magazine drops to the ground, clattering louder than you’d like. your other hand is already reaching for a fresh one, fumbling for a second before finding it.

˚ ༘♡ the cool metal feels heavy in your palm as you slot it into the magazine well. you shove it upward until it clicks into place, a sound that’s both satisfying and urgent. your hand moves to the slide, gripping the serrated edges. you pull it back sharply, feeling the resistance, and let it snap forward with a crisp, metallic clank.

˚ ༘♡ your heart is racing, but your hands are steady. you flick the safety off with your thumb without even thinking about it. the gun is ready again, its weight familiar in your grip. you take a breath that doesn’t seem deep enough, your focus narrowing as you lift the weapon and prepare to fire at the masked men who stand across in another block structure.

˚ ༘♡ player 001 had insisted you stay behind. his voice was grounded, almost gentle, as he took your hand, his rough fingers a stark contrast to the warmth in his tone. “this plan is reckless,” he said, his expression unreadable except for the glint of concern in his dark eyes. “we have enough people. you don’t need to put yourself in danger.” but his attempt at reassurance only fueled your resolve.

˚ ༘♡ “if you’re not staying behind, neither am i,” you replied, your voice firm, though your heart pounded like a war drum. his face darkened with vexation, but he didn’t argue further, young-il knew he could not change your mind.

˚ ༘♡ crouched behind the unforgiving cover of the red structure, your hands trembled as you clutched the empty weapon. “i’m out of ammo,” you called, your voice barely cutting through the raucous chaos around you.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun and jung-bae had disappeared minutes ago, slipping into the chaos to infiltrate the control room. every second they were gone stretching unbearably thin. around you, the others were panicking. shouts rose above the gunfire, “almost out!” player 246 hollered, “running low!” player 120 yelled out, desperation laced every shout.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s radio crackled to life, gi-hun’s strained voice breaking through. “we’re running out of ammo here. there are more magazines on the guards, someone has to get them. hurry!”

˚ ༘♡ the moment the line went dead, young-il turned to the group. unlike the others, he was calm, his face as still as stone, his composure a striking contrast to the pandemonium. his eyes swept over each of you, calculating, deliberate. “four of us will move to back them up,” he said, his voice even, “but someone has to retrieve the magazines from the guards.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt the weight of his gaze settle on you for a moment longer than the others. your stomach tightened. the bodies of the masked men were out there, sprawled in the open, exposed under relentless gunfire. retrieving the magazines meant running into certain danger.

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll go!” dae-ho shouted, his voice quivering. his hands shook as he clutched his weapon, his knuckles white against the grip. before anyone could argue, he pushed himself to his feet and sprinted into the open, his silhouette a vulnerable target in the chaos. bullets ricocheted off nearby walls, sparks flying like tiny explosions. player 120 darted after him, crouching low and firing in short bursts to cover his reckless charge.

˚ ༘♡ young-il, player 047, and player 015 began moving toward the exit. you didn’t hesitate to follow, the worn soles of your shoes crunching against the debris-strewn ground. before you could take more than a few steps, young-il stopped abruptly, turning to face you. his stern gaze locked onto yours, “stay here,” he said, his voice low.

˚ ༘♡ your chest tightened with frustration, and you met his command with a sharp glare. “i can’t stay out here,” you hissed, your voice barely louder than the chaos around you. “how can i stand by knowing you’ll be in danger while i sit here, doing nothing? i can help.”

˚ ༘♡ his expression darkened, his face hardening as his jaw tightened. the faint lines around his eyes deepened into sharp creases, the wear of age etched into his skin. you could see the conflict inside him, his instinct to protect you clashing with the knowledge that he couldn’t stop you. his shoulders sagged ever so slightly, a reluctant surrender.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t argue further. instead, he turned sharply and continued toward the exit, his steps heavier than before. you followed close behind, the cold air biting at your face and your hands shaking.

˚ ༘♡ once inside, the oppressive silence of the corridors was shattered by the sharp crack of gunfire echoing through the narrow passageways. your boots slid against the blood-slick floors, the dark streaks smearing across the ground like grotesque markers guiding your way. shattered shell casings crunched underfoot, their metallic edges catching the dim light as you moved in tight formation behind the others.

˚ ༘♡ the sounds grew louder with every turn, each burst of gunfire sending a jolt through your chest. when you reached the source, your heart sank. gi-hun and jung-bae were pinned down behind a stack of crates, their weapons barking in quick bursts as masked men returned fire from the opposite end of the hall. “the control room is there!” gi-hun shouted, his voice strained as he gestured toward a guarded staircase. the veins in his neck stood out with the effort.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s gaze darted between the staircase and gi-hun, his expression grim. “i’m nearly out of ammo,” he said, his voice undisturbed despite the chaos around him.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun didn’t hesitate. he reached into his pocket, retrieving a magazine with shaky fingers. “here,” he said, extending it toward young-il. “it’s my last one.”

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s eyes flicked to the magazine, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “are you sure?” he asked, his tone measured, though the tension in his voice was unmistakable.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun nodded. “dae-ho will be back with more. now go!”

˚ ༘♡ young-il looked as though he might argue, yet with a reluctant nod, he took the magazine. sliding it into his weapon, he jerked his head toward the opposite direction. “this way,” he commanded.

˚ ༘♡ you fell in step beside him, your shoulder brushing his as you moved. the air felt thick, you couldn’t help but glance at young-il, his face a mask of stable focus.

˚ ༘♡ arriving at another stairwell, the tension in the air felt suffocating, every step heavy with the weight of what might come next. player 047 and player 015 moved quickly, their rifles poised as they positioned themselves near the walls, peering toward the masked guards above.

˚ ༘♡ you and young-il lingered behind them. he reloaded his rifle with the magazine gi-hun had given him. your hands tightening around your weapon. the cold metal felt heavier than ever, slick with the sweat of your palms. you tried to calm your breathing, to ready yourself for the chaos that was certain to erupt. beside you, young-il raised his gun, his posture steady and unshaken. you followed his lead, preparing for the onslaught, waiting for the inevitable storm of bullets. the shots rang out, but they weren’t aimed at the guards.

˚ ༘♡ the first sharp crack reverberated through the stairwell, a deafening sound that seemed to shatter the air. player 047 jerked forward, his body crumpling to the ground like a discarded puppet. his rifle clattered away, the life drained from him in an instant.

˚ ༘♡ before the echo of the first shot faded, another followed, sharp and final. player 015 collapsed, his body writhing as blood began to trickle beneath him. he let out a guttural, choked gasp, his hands clawing weakly at the ground as he struggled to breathe. his voice, broken and trembling, was barely audible as he begged for mercy, his words dissolving into wet, rasping breaths.

˚ ༘♡ you stood paralyzed, the scene before you unspooling in a sickening blur. player 047’s body lay still, his eyes vacant, while player 015 twitched helplessly, his life draining away with each agonized second.

˚ ༘♡ your eyes went to young-il, who remained motionless, his gun still raised. his expression was cold, unreadable, as if the weight of what he had done didn’t touch him at all. there was no hesitation in his actions, no flicker of remorse in his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ the distant echoes of gunfire and screams drowned out by the discordant pounding of your own heartbeat. your mind raced, grasping for something, anything, to make sense of what was happening, but your body refused to move. your breath caught in your throat as young-il turned toward you, his weapon still raised, the barrel gleaming under the light.

˚ ༘♡ time seemed to stretch as the frigid metal pressed against your forehead, the faint scrape of the barrel against your skin sending a chill down your spine. his eyes, once a source of reassurance, now bore into you with an intensity that felt almost inhuman. they weren’t angry, but calculating. you opened your mouth to speak, to plead, to demand answers, but no sound came. the words were trapped, strangled by a fear that gripped your chest.

˚ ༘♡ for a vanishing moment, hope sparked when he lowered the gun. relief struck you so abruptly it nearly made your knees give out. that hope shattered as quickly as it came. he aimed the gun not at your chest, but lower. you barely registered what was happening before the deafening crack of the shot filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ the agony radiating from your shattered knee. it was as if every nerve in your body had been set ablaze, the pain so consuming it blurred your vision and stole the breath from your lungs. blood gushed from the wound, pooling rapidly beneath you.

˚ ༘♡ you clawed at the ground, desperate for anything to anchor you as your body convulsed with the shock of the injury. tears streamed down your face, hot and uncontrollable, as a strangled cry escaped your lips. the cold floor beneath you seemed to pull the heat from your body, leaving you trembling and vulnerable.

˚ ༘♡ through the haze of agony, you forced your gaze upward, meeting his cold, unflinching eyes. “why?” you rasped, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears. the word was a broken plea, filled with pain and betrayal, though deep down, you already knew no answer could justify what he had done.

˚ ༘♡ young-il stalked over to player 047’s lifeless body, his demeanor disturbingly composed despite the carnage surrounding you both. crouching beside the corpse, he grabbed the sleeve of the dead man’s jacket, his fingers curling around the fabric. with a deliberate pull, he tore a strip from the bloodied material.

˚ ༘♡ you writhed where you lay, the searing pain in your knee refusing to relent. blood continued to seep from the wound, its warmth pooling beneath you in thick, sticky smears. your breathing came in short, erratic gasps

˚ ༘♡ he returned to you, the strip of fabric clutched in his hand like a twisted tool of control. his presence loomed over you, suffocating in its quiet intensity. you flinched as he knelt beside you, the smell of blood and sweat clinging to him, a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

˚ ༘♡ without warning, his hand shot out, his grip firm as he seized your chin. the sudden pressure forced your head off the cold, blood-slick floor, and you gasped, your lips trembling as you struggled to focus through the pain clouding your vision. his touch was rigid, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your jaw.

˚ ༘♡ young-il worked methodically, winding the fabric around your mouth. you tried to jerk your head away, but his grip tightened, holding you in place as he secured the knot at the back of your head. the coarse material bit into the corners of your mouth, the taste of grime and death filling your senses as your cries were reduced to stifled, pitiful sounds.

˚ ༘♡ when he finally let go of your chin, your head hit the floor with a thud that seemed to echo inside your skull. the pain was sharp, but it paled in comparison to the turmoil raging within you. confusion clawed at your thoughts, tangled with disbelief so heavy it was suffocating. this was young-il, the man who had stood beside you, risked his life for you. you couldn’t reconcile the murderous figure before you with the person who had once seemed so kind, so loyal. why? the question screamed in your mind, louder than the agony in your leg or the blood pounding in your ears.

˚ ༘♡ he pulled the portable radio from his pocket, the cold efficiency of his actions cutting deeper than any bullet could. he walked over to where player 015 lay, choking on his own blood, the pitiful sound barely audible between gurgling gasps. kneeling down beside him, young-il’s voice changed, slipping into a grotesque mockery of grief and desperation.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m sorry, gi-hun,” he said, his voice uneven, laced with feigned exhaustion. “it’s over.”

˚ ༘♡ your eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank in. you thrashed against the bindings around your mouth, your muffled screams raw and desperate as you tried to drown out his lie. gi-hun needed to hear the truth, that young-il betrayed them, but the gag stifled every sound.

˚ ༘♡ young-il pressed the radio closer to player 015, holding it just inches from the man’s face. the wet, ragged gasps of the dying player filled the channel. you watched in horror as young-il’s hand rested on the radio. it was cruel, calculated, a performance designed to destroy any hope gi-hun might have left.

˚ ༘♡ with a flick of his finger, he silenced the radio. the stairwell was suddenly quiet except for your muted weeping and the faint rasp of player 015’s fading breaths. young-il stood over him, his gun raised once more. there was no hesitation, no emotion as he pulled the trigger. the crack of the shot was deafening, the sound of it reverberating off the concrete walls and leaving an emptiness in its wake.

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was unbearable. it pressed down on you, crushing your chest, as the weight of his betrayal settled fully in your mind. young-il turned, his face as calm as ever, and you felt your stomach twist. “i’m sorry,” young-il murmured. your heart sank as you convinced yourself this was it. he was going to kill you, finish what he started and tie up loose ends.

˚ ༘♡ instead, he turned and walked away, his footsteps unhurried. the sound of them faded into the distance. confusion churned in your chest, mingling with the pain that consumed your body. why leave you in such a pathetic state? surely, even he wouldn’t be so brutal as to condemn you to bleed out slowly, to suffer alone in agony until death finally claimed you.

˚ ༘♡ time became meaningless as you lay there. blood seeped from your shattered knee in hot, pulsing waves, the sticky warmth swarming beneath you, soaking into your clothes. the air grew colder, or maybe it was you, the life draining from your body, inch by inch. you couldn’t tell if a minute had passed or an hour.

˚ ༘♡ somewhere far away, gunshots cracked. a scream came, a piercing, gut-wrenching sound that sent a shiver crawling up your spine despite your weakening state, unmistakably gi-hun. you refused to consider what might have happened, it was far too devastating.

˚ ༘♡ and then, footsteps.

˚ ༘♡ as the figure emerged into view, a dreadful realization set in. it wasn’t anyone you recognized.

˚ ༘♡ tall and imposing, the stranger was clad in sleek black from head to toe. the fabric of their attire shimmered faintly under the dim light, perfectly fitted, without a single crease or flaw. their face was concealed by an angular black mask, its pristine surface reflecting nothing, revealing nothing, not even a hint of the eyes beneath.

˚ ༘♡ your mind, dulled by pain and blood loss, struggled to comprehend the sight. fear should have seized you, but your body was too weak, your thoughts too fractured to muster a response. when the figure crouched beside you, their movements swift and efficient, you didn’t resist as they ripped the gag from your mouth.

˚ ༘♡ “who… who are you?” you managed to slur, your voice barely audible.

˚ ༘♡ the figure didn’t answer. they didn’t hesitate. one gloved hand cradled the back of your head, tilting it upward with unsettling care, while the other hand brought a cloth to your face. the sharp, chemical scent hit you instantly, chloroform.

˚ ༘♡ panic flared, yet it was short-lived. the edges of your vision blurred, your body growing heavier, like you were sinking into a dark, bottomless pit. the last thing you saw was the smooth, featureless mask staring down at you, icy and unfeeling, before the world faded into black.

a/n: another hwang in-ho fanfiction! let me know your thoughts and if you have any requests! 🤍

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neferaskingdom · 4 months ago

Text

♡ You're Doing Amazing Sweetie | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: George finds out and the only thing Y/n can do is hide and pray that George doesn't take out Max on track.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

Y/n paces anxiously near the monitors while Charles and Lando loiter as if they had all the time in the world. Charles had his arms crossed, his race suit tied around his waist, and Lando was demolishing a plate of snacks meant for the Ferrari engineers. Y/n had been hiding out in the Ferrari garage since the paddock opened to avoid crossing paths with George.

“Okay, tell me the truth—how screwed am I?” Y/n asks, whipping around to face them.

“Oh, monumentally,” Lando replies through a mouthful of cookie. “Like Titanic levels. Possibly Pompeii.”

Charles nods along solemnly. “Also George is definitely plotting something. He walked by earlier muttering to himself like a Bond villain.”

“Fuck” Y/n groans pacing faster.

“You do realize hiding here makes you look guiltier, right?” Lando says, biting into another cookie

Y/n glares at him. “What do you want me to do? Parade around the paddock with a sign that says ‘Yes George, I am the mother of Max Verstappen’s future spawn’?!”

Charles snorts so hard that his espresso nearly spills. “Please don’t. George would spontaneously combust.”

“Plus technically speaking this is your fault,” Lando says, jabbing a finger at her.

She raises an eyebrow. “My fault? I’m not the one who told the entire world, ‘If it weren’t for the baby.’”

“That part was clearly Max’s fault,” Lando interjects, not looking up from his plate. “But this whole ‘let’s date secretly’ thing? Yeah, I’m blaming you for that one.”

“Excuse me?” Y/n shoots back.

“Don’t get defensive,” Charles says, holding his hands up. “But we told you this would end in disaster. And now? Look at you. Hiding in my garage like some kind of fugitive because George looks like he’s ready to blow up Redbull’s hospitality. You should have told George the second you two realized your relationship was serious.”

Y/n groans, tugging at her hair. “What’s done is done and I can’t change that now can I? And I’m here because I obviously can’t stay at the Mercedes garage if I want to avoid my brother and staying at Redbull is a deathwish. Imagine what’ll happen if he catches us both in the same place. I just hope George doesn't do anything stupid in public”

“Why do you think we’re here?” Lando says, grinning as he gestures to himself and Charles. “We’re like the UN Peacekeepers of the paddock. We’ll keep them both separate and make sure nothing happens today.”

“Like that's very reassuring,” Y/n mutters.

As the drivers line up for the national anthem, Y/n stays glued to the monitors, trying to keep a low profile. George, however, was impossible to miss.

“Great,” she mutters to herself as the camera pans to him. His jaw was clenched, his expression thunderous. It looked like he was barely holding himself together.

Oscar was hovering near George, subtly blocking him every time he shifted toward Max. Y/n couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Aussie, who looked like he’d accidentally wandered into a battlefield.

From his other side, Lando was casually draping an arm over his shoulder as if trying to calm him down. Instead, it seems to piss off George even more as he tried to shrug him off with a sharp glare, but Lando remained latched on.

“Please let this be over,” Y/n pleads at the screen.

The tension only escalated as the drivers headed to their cars. George made one last attempt to corner Max, and Y/n’s heart leaped into her throat.

“Oh no. Oh no. Don’t do it,” she whispered at the screen.

Oscar, ever the unwilling mediator, once again intercepted George, his hands up in a placating gesture. Y/n let out a relieved breath as George backed off, though he still looked furious.

She slumped back into her seat, her nerves frayed.

“Just one race,” she muttered to herself. “One race without drama. Is that too much to ask for?”

The drivers climbed into their cars, and the screen cut to the grid formation. Y/n felt a brief moment of peace, knowing that for the next couple of hours, George and Max would be too busy driving to tear into each other.

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: Tensions are at an all-time high after today’s race! George Russell’s post-race interview took a dramatic turn when a journalist brought up Max’s cryptic baby comment and rumors about George’s sister. 😱 After repeatedly trying to dodge the question, George snapped, delivered a firm warning about personal boundaries, and stormed off.

The paddock drama just keeps escalating. Fans spotted George glaring at Max throughout the national anthem, and it seems like Oscar and Lando had to play paddock security to keep the peace. What’s your take on all this chaos? 🍼👀

Post-Race Interview Transcript:

Journalist: George, P5 today—a decent result to round out the season. Can you walk us through how you’re feeling about the race and the team’s performance?

George: (nodding) Yeah, it was a solid race. Not quite the result we hoped for, but the team worked hard all weekend. We gave it our best shot with the car we had. Of course, as a driver, you always want more, but I think we made the most of the opportunities we had out there.

Journalist: Fair enough. And, of course, today marks the end of an era with Lewis Hamilton’s final race for Mercedes. What’s it like to share this moment with him? Any reflections?

George: (pauses, visibly emotional) It’s bittersweet, really. Lewis has been such a huge part of the team and the sport as a whole. He’s not just a teammate but also a mentor and a legend in Formula 1. Sharing the garage with him has been an honor. I think I speak for everyone at Mercedes when I say we’re incredibly grateful for everything he’s brought to the team and wish him all the best for what comes next.

Journalist: Well said. Now, George, I have to shift gears a bit—there’s been a lot of chatter about some off-track tension. During the national anthem, fans couldn’t help but notice you glaring at Max Verstappen. Care to address that?

George: (stiffens, smile faltering) I wasn’t glaring at anyone. I was focused on the race, like I always am. People are reading into things that just aren’t there.

Journalist: Really? Because from the footage, it looked quite... pointed. And after Max’s comments yesterday about making peace with you ‘because of a baby,’ it’s hard not to wonder—

George: (cuts in, voice tight) I don’t see how that’s relevant to today’s race.

Journalist: (pressing) George, fans are speculating nonstop. Is it true? Is your sister having Max Verstappen’s baby?

George: (visibly bristling, voice rising) I think we’ve strayed far enough from the purpose of this interview. This is about Formula 1, about racing—not gossip or baseless rumors.

Journalist: With all due respect, George, Max’s words weren’t exactly cryptic. He was talking about a baby and making amends with you. Surely, you can understand why people are curious.

George: (snaps, voice sharp) Curious or not, it’s none of anyone’s business. This is supposed to be a post-race interview—not a soap opera recap. The media needs to learn where to draw the line. We’re here to race, not have our personal lives dissected under a microscope.

Journalist: But George, the fans—

George: (interrupts sharply) No. Enough. The media needs to maintain boundaries and stop meddling in our personal lives. I’m done here.

(George rips off his team cap, storms away from the interview pen, and disappears into the paddock, leaving the journalist and cameras stunned.)

Comments:

user: George was NOT here for the nonsense today. That ‘draw the line’ speech? ICONIC

user: Honestly, respect to George for standing up for himself. The journalist was pushing way too hard. Let the man race in peace user: Never seen George this mad before 😳 What is going on in the House of Commons???

user: Why do I feel like this confirms the baby news? Like he didn’t deny it, and his reaction was TOO intense

user: Respect to George for standing up to the journalist, but let’s not lie—he 100% confirmed the drama with that reaction. 🍼

user: Okay, but imagine George finding out about the baby at the same time as us 😭

user: George looked like he was going to deck Max during the national anthem. Thank you, Oscar, for literally being a human shield

user: No but why did George look like he was seconds away from body-slamming Max during the anthem? Lando had to literally hold him back 💀

user: Okay, but the real question is… what BABY? Whose baby? Did George even KNOW about this baby before today?!

user: Theory time! 1. Max and Y/n were dating in secret. 2. George didn’t know about the baby and is spiraling. 3. Netflix is eating GOOD

user: Imagine being George and learning about your sister’s alleged baby from Twitter

user: Lewis’ last race with Merc and THIS is what George has to deal with. Poor guy’s gonna need therapy after this season

user: The way everyone’s ignoring this is also Lewis’ last race with Mercedes 💀. George snapped so hard we forgot to be emotional

user: Lando probably whispered something dumb like ‘You’re doing amazing, sweetie’ while George was vibrating with rage

user: F1 isn’t just a sport. It’s a reality TV show with occasional car racing

Max stood under the glare of the cameras, trying to look composed despite the post-race fatigue gnawing at him. P6 wasn’t what he’d wanted, but at least he’d avoided the chaos brewing elsewhere in the paddock—or so he thought.

“So, the strategy was clearly compromised by the penalty,” the journalist asked, her tone probing. “Do you think there was any way to recover from that?”

Max nodded slightly, his words coming out measured. “Yeah, it was tough. We lost track position early, and once you’re in traffic—”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

The voice was eerily calm, almost polite, but it carried a weight that immediately silenced the conversation. Max turned to see George standing there, his posture casual but his jaw clenched tight.

The journalist blinked, clearly taken aback. “Uh, George? We’re in the middle of—”

“I need a moment with Max,” George cut her off, his tone civil but firm. He glanced at Max’s PR manager with an unnervingly calm smile. “I hope you don’t mind.”

The PR manager hesitated, looking between Max and George. Max let out a quiet sigh, already resigned to whatever was about to unfold. He gave a small nod. “It’s fine. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Before anyone could say another word, George’s hand clamped onto Max’s shoulder. It wasn’t rough, but it left no room for argument.

Max allowed himself to be steered away, his body language slumping slightly as though accepting his fate. George didn’t say a word as he guided Max through the paddock, weaving past mechanics and team personnel. A few glanced their way, their curiosity piqued, but no one dared to intervene.

“Are you going to say something, or are we just walking in ominous silence?” Max finally muttered, keeping his tone light but knowing full well George wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

George didn’t respond, his grip tightening slightly as they turned into a quieter corridor behind the team hospitality units.

“Okay,” Max said with a dry laugh, “this is starting to feel like a bad cop drama.”

George stopped abruptly, spinning Max around and slamming him against the wall. The thud echoed in the empty space, and Max winced slightly but didn’t resist.

“We need to talk,” George said, his voice low and steely, every word laced with barely contained anger.

Max met his gaze, his usual unflappable demeanor faltering under the intensity of George’s glare. For a moment, the air between them was thick with tension, unspoken words hanging heavy in the silence.

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@henna006 @freyathehuntress @nichmeddar @formulaal @sleutherclaw

@anilovessadbooks @mangotaitai @vtryy @finn-dot-com @sarahsobsession

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leejenowrld · 4 months ago

Text

new me — lee jeno smut

pairing — soft dom! jeno x reader, strangers to lovers

genre — smut, fluff

word count — 12.5k

synopsis — moving to a new college mid-term wasn’t part of the plan, but neither was jeno. all it takes is one tour guide, one party, one shared look, and suddenly you’re in his bed, legs wrapped around his waist, his cock stretching you so perfectly you forget why you ever hesitated. he’s addictive, and the way he fucks you—slow, deep, like he’s already yours—makes it impossible not to fall apart beneath him.

authors note — happy new year’s eve, my loves 🖤 this is my final fic of 2024, and what a year it’s been. my first on tumblr, and i’m so grateful to have found this community and shared my works with you all! consider this a little gift to celebrate the new year and hitting a follower milestone <3. honestly, this isn’t my best work, but who cares—I’m in a full-on jeno head rot. it’s just smut, with a little build-up, but the smut is so soft, so warm, it’s ridiculous. soft dom jeno is at a solid 10000/10 here. yes, oc and jeno just met. yes, they’re already stupidly possessive over each other. enjoy! also this is not proof read.

listen to this song whilst reading !

December 23rd,

The campus was unnervingly quiet, the kind of quiet that made the crunch of your boots against the frosted ground sound louder than it should. Snow-dusted trees lined the sprawling stone paths, and the chill in the air felt heavy, pressing against your chest. Your breath curled visibly as you approached the grand administration building ahead, its towering columns and arched windows casting long shadows against the gray sky. The facade, a blend of historic elegance and modern design, loomed cold and uninviting, its grandeur only making the campus feel more deserted. The email inviting you for an early induction had sounded welcoming, even reassuring, but as you walked through the silent, snow-covered grounds, a quiet unease began to settle in your chest. Without the usual hum of students rushing past, every step made the sense of not quite belonging sink a little deeper.

Transferring to a new college in the middle of the term was far from ideal, but the opportunity had been impossible to pass up. This wasn’t just any institution—it was one of the most prestigious in the country, known for its groundbreaking research and distinguished faculty. Among them was Professor Doyoung Kim, a name spoken with reverence in academic circles. As head of the engineering department, he was a pioneer in his field, renowned for his contributions to sustainable design and innovative technology. His work had been published in journals you’d once pored over late into the night, dreaming of a future where you might cross paths with such minds. This wasn’t simply a college; it was a launching pad for the kind of career you’d always envisioned. Despite the awkward timing, despite the upheaval, the chance to study here—under the guidance of someone like Kim—was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The anxiety you carried was undeniable, but so was the quiet, determined thrill that you were here, stepping into a world you’d only imagined.

Inside, the warmth was faint, and the echo of your footsteps only deepened the emptiness of the halls. When your eyes landed on him, you almost stopped in your tracks. Professor Doyoung Kim greeted you at the main office, standing tall in a perfectly tailored suit that seemed to amplify his presence. His composed demeanor and sharp features radiated authority, a stark reminder of the name you’d read about countless times in academic journals. He wasn’t just an acclaimed professor; he was a pioneer, a mind you had long admired from afar. Seeing him in person left you momentarily stunned, the reality of his stature hitting you harder than you expected. Yet, despite his intimidating reputation, there was a kindness in his sharp gaze that softened the edges of your nervousness, making it hard to feel entirely overwhelmed.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth and professional, “I’m glad you came in today so we could make you feel welcome and show you around—especially on such late notice.”

You nodded, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. “Thank you. I appreciate the opportunity.”

Doyoung smiled faintly, gesturing for you to follow him down the hall. “You’re an exceptional student,” he added, his tone factual rather than complimentary. “It’s not every year we get someone with your academic track record. We’re excited to have you join us next term.”

You nodded again, your throat tightening as you fell into step beside him. His words didn’t feel like flattery—they felt like a challenge, a subtle reflection of the expectations you carried with you. Years of meticulous effort had built your academic reputation, but the thought of starting over, proving yourself in an unfamiliar environment, pressed heavily on your chest. Confidence in your abilities wasn’t the issue—it was the weight of living up to the opportunity you’d been given.

As Professor Kim walked you through the structure of the semester, your nerves began to shift, settling into a focused hum. He spoke about the program’s intensity, the emphasis on collaboration, and the resources available to students with the kind of precision that made his words reassuring. His voice was calm, steady, even soothing in its way. But just as you started to feel more at ease, you turned a corner and collided with someone, the impact snapping you out of your thoughts like a jolt.

“Oh—sorry!” you stammered, stepping back quickly as your bag nearly slipped from your shoulder.

The person you bumped into barely moved, his tall frame unyielding as he glanced down at you with an expression that was impossible to read. His dark hair fell into his eyes, brushing against furrowed brows, and his lips pressed into a firm, unimpressed line. He looked like he had better things to do, like your clumsiness had interrupted something far more important.

But then his gaze lingered, his sharp eyes catching on the curve of your face, the hurried apology spilling from your lips. The tension in his brow eased, the faintest shift in his expression betraying a flicker of interest. His gaze softened as it traced over you—curious now, lingering just a second too long. His disinterest cracked, just enough to reveal something more, as if you’d momentarily pulled his focus away from whatever had consumed it before.

“Great,” Doyoung interrupted smoothly, stepping between the two of you. “Jeno, meet Y/N. Y/N, this is Jeno. He’s one of our top students in the department. Jeno, would you mind showing her around? Make sure she gets the full tour.”

Jeno exhaled slowly through his nose, his expression settling into something impassive, though his jaw twitched slightly. He pulled his headphones down to rest around his neck, the movement deliberate as his eyes flicked from Doyoung to you.

“Sure,” he said, the word falling flat, edged with reluctance, though the weight of his gaze told a different story. His eyes swept over your face, sharp and deliberate, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. The curve of his mouth twitched, the barest hint of a smirk playing there, like he knew exactly what his presence did to you. “I’ll show you around. Try not to bump into anyone else, though.”

Doyoung nodded approvingly, clapping Jeno lightly on the shoulder. “Good. I’ll leave you two to it. Y/N, if you have any questions, feel free to reach out.” With that, he walked away, his footsteps fading into the stillness, leaving the two of you standing far too close in the empty hallway.

You couldn’t ignore the way Jeno’s gaze lingered, his posture relaxed but his eyes anything but. He didn’t look thrilled to be stuck with this task, but there was something else beneath the surface—an intensity in the way his gaze dipped briefly to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. It made the air between you feel heavy, charged, like it held secrets you weren’t ready to name.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, though it felt deafening in the quiet.

He tilted his head slightly, his dark hair falling just into his eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirked up, almost imperceptibly. “Hi.”

The single word wasn’t warm or overly friendly—it was casual, almost dismissive—but the way his voice dropped made it feel personal, intimate. His gaze stayed locked on yours, unwavering, as though he was studying you, searching for something unspoken in your reaction.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice low, his fingers adjusting the strap of his backpack in a slow, deliberate motion that somehow drew your attention. “Where do you want to start? Library? Labs? Or are we just walking aimlessly?”

“The library,” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “If that’s okay.”

He nodded, the slight tilt of his head carrying an ease you couldn’t replicate, then turned without another word, gesturing for you to follow. You fell into step beside him, your heartbeat quickening with every silent second that passed. His pace was slow, unhurried, the sound of his boots on the stone path matching your own as the quiet between you deepened—not awkward, but charged, as if even the spaces between his words carried weight.

The campus looked entirely different with Jeno leading the way. The snow-dusted paths that had felt cold and uninviting now seemed softened, the towering stone buildings framing your surroundings rather than looming over them. But it wasn’t just the campus—it was him. The faint brush of his arm as he walked too close, the subtle warmth of his presence despite the icy chill of the air, the way his voice resonated low and steady, grounding you in the unfamiliarity of the moment.

“That’s the dining hall,” he said, his tone casual, though a subtle rasp in his voice made the words feel heavier. “Food’s decent most days. Breakfast is worth getting up for, but lunch and dinner… well, you’ll survive.”

You nodded, your throat dry as you tried to focus on his words, but your attention was pulled elsewhere—drawn to the way his lips moved when he spoke, the casual flick of his hand as he gestured toward the building. His tone wasn’t unfriendly, but there was a distance in it, like he wasn’t fully invested in the conversation. Yet, every so often, his gaze would flick to you, quick and sharp, as though he was studying the way you reacted to him, the way your breath caught or your steps faltered.

When you reached the engineering labs—a sleek glass building that gleamed even under the muted winter light—his voice softened, the shift so subtle it was almost imperceptible. “You’ll probably spend most of your time here,” he said, his words slower now, his gaze flicking briefly to yours before continuing. “Professors are good, but they don’t mess around.”

“Sounds intense,” you said, your voice lighter, though the slight tremor betrayed you.

“It is,” he replied, but his gaze lingered, dark and steady, his eyes tracing the curve of your face before meeting yours with a heat that made your stomach twist. His lips curved slightly, the faintest smirk appearing as though he’d noticed your reaction and found it amusing. “But you look like the type who can handle it.”

The words hit harder than they should have, his voice low and deliberate, laced with something that felt heavier than casual observation. His eyes stayed on yours, unyielding, as if daring you to deny it. The air between you seemed thicker, his presence pressing into the space in a way that made your chest tighten and your breath falter.

You looked away quickly, your cheeks warming despite the icy air, but the weight of his gaze lingered, wrapping around you like a thread you couldn’t quite untangle. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you, in the way his voice dipped just for you, and it left your pulse pounding in your ears as the moment stretched on, charged with a tension neither of you dared to name.

When you reached the library, the sheer scale of it stole your breath. Rows of books stretched endlessly in every direction, the warm glow of the lights above casting a golden hue across the polished wood floors. High ceilings arched overhead, their grandeur somehow both awe-inspiring and calming. Jeno stepped ahead of you, pushing the heavy door open with one hand, his other casually stuffed into his jacket pocket.

“Best place on campus,” he said, his voice carrying an unbothered confidence that seemed to come naturally to him. He stepped aside, holding the door open for you as though it required no thought, just instinct. “Quiet, warm, and the coffee’s decent—if you know where to get it.”

You stepped inside, the subtle warmth of the space enveloping you immediately. The scent of aged paper and polished wood filled the air, grounding you in a way that felt almost nostalgic. Even though the library was nearly empty, the quiet hum of central heating and the faint rustle of a page turning somewhere in the distance made it feel alive. You glanced around, taking it all in, and found yourself speaking before you’d even realized.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, the words falling softly into the stillness.

Jeno’s lips curved, faint amusement flickering across his face as his eyes followed your reaction. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful as his gaze moved across the room—but not for long. His eyes returned to you, lingering, as though drawn back against his will. “It’s not bad,” he added, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smirk that felt deliberate, though his gaze seemed far more interested in you than the grandeur of the space.

He led you deeper into the library, his steps measured, his voice low as he pointed out various sections. His explanations were quick, almost perfunctory, as though he’d done this routine countless times. But there was something about the way he moved, the way his occasional glances seemed to linger on you before snapping back to the shelves, that made your heart skip.

“This is where most people camp out during finals,” he said, gesturing to a cluster of study tables near a large window. Snowflakes drifted outside, soft and slow, the courtyard below blanketed in white. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find a spot without someone snoring next to you.”

The dryness of his humor caught you off guard, and you let out a quiet laugh, the sound surprising even yourself. His smirk widened slightly, and for a moment, the distance he carried seemed to fade, replaced by something easier, more comfortable. There was a steadiness about him, an unspoken confidence in the way he occupied space, and though your nerves still hummed beneath the surface, his presence made you feel oddly grounded in the vast unfamiliarity of the moment.

Jeno led you out of the library and back into the chill of the afternoon, his steps unhurried as he gestured toward a path branching off to the left. The cold nipped at your cheeks, but his presence kept you anchored, the warmth of his voice cutting through the bite of the wind.

“There’s a café just ahead,” he said, glancing over at you briefly. “If you ever need a break between classes, it’s a decent spot to hide out. Quiet enough most of the time, though it gets crowded around finals.”

The path wound past a small courtyard, snow blanketing the benches and casting a soft glow under the pale sunlight. You followed him, falling easily into step beside him, and for a moment, you let yourself settle into the calmness he seemed to carry.

“It sounds perfect,” you said, your voice lighter now, the tension in your chest easing with each step.

“It’s not bad,” Jeno replied, his tone casual. Then, as though letting you in on a secret, he added, “The hot chocolate’s better than the coffee, though. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected confession, a quiet laugh slipping past your lips. “Noted. I’ll keep it between us.”

The café came into view, a cozy space nestled between two older campus buildings, its wide windows fogged with the warmth inside. Jeno held the door open for you again, his hand resting lightly against the frame as he gestured you in. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wrapped around you the moment you stepped inside, and the soft hum of conversation made the space feel alive but not overwhelming.

“This is probably my favorite spot,” he admitted as he followed you in, his voice dropping slightly, as though the quieter surroundings demanded it. “I usually come here before late lectures. Keeps me sane.”

The warmth of the space settled over you, and for the first time since arriving on campus, you felt yourself fully relax. You glanced around, noticing the mix of students tucked into booths and perched at small tables, their heads bent over laptops and textbooks. A few of them glanced up as you walked by, their eyes trailing not you, but Jeno.

At first, you thought they were curious about you—your unfamiliar face drawing attention in a space that likely had its regulars. But the looks lingered, darting to Jeno with recognition and, in some cases, something like admiration. You caught snippets of whispers as you passed, words you couldn’t quite make out but felt like they weren’t about you at all.

Jeno, however, seemed oblivious—or maybe just unaffected. He moved with the same easy confidence he’d shown since you first bumped into him, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed. If he noticed the way people looked at him, the way their conversations quieted as he passed, he didn’t let it show.

“Want to grab something?” he asked, nodding toward the counter.

You shook your head, still distracted by the way the atmosphere shifted around him. “No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

Jeno only gave you a faint glance, his brows lifting briefly as if to say sure you are, before turning toward the counter. A few quiet words exchanged with the barista, and he returned moments later with a pistachio muffin and a steaming cup of hot chocolate in hand. He held them out to you, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips when you hesitated.

“Take it,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for refusal. “Trust me—you don’t want to miss this.”

Flustered, you accepted the muffin, the warmth of the hot chocolate seeping through the paper cup as you cradled it in your hands. Your cheeks warmed as you tore off a piece of the muffin, the soft, nutty sweetness melting on your tongue.

“It’s good,” you admitted quietly, looking up at him as he leaned against a nearby table.

“Of course it is,” he said, taking the other half of the muffin and popping it into his mouth, chewing with a casualness that only added to the ease he carried. His gaze flicked to you briefly as you sipped the hot chocolate, your eyes widening slightly at the rich, velvety flavor.

“This is…” you trailed off, unable to find the right word, but the awe in your expression said enough.

He chuckled softly, his voice low as he leaned in just enough to make the moment feel conspiratorial. “Don’t tell anyone about this hot chocolate. It’s my secret weapon during finals, and if word gets out, I’ll know who to blame.”

You giggled, warmth curling in your chest at his tone. “I’ll treasure it, I promise,” you said, holding the cup up as though swearing allegiance to the drink.

His smile widened just slightly, a flicker of something warmer passing through his eyes before he straightened. “Good,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

The cold hit you again as you stepped back outside, the sharp air a stark contrast to the cozy warmth of the café. Jeno slipped his hands into his pockets, tilting his head toward another path.

“Next stop,” he said, his breath visible in the chill, “the engineering building. Probably the place you’ll end up hating most by the end of the semester.”

You followed him down a narrow walkway, the sleek glass exterior of the engineering labs coming into view ahead. Inside, the air was hushed, the long corridors lined with lecture halls and labs that hummed faintly with the buzz of equipment left running. Jeno’s voice softened as he showed you around, pointing out the key areas with an easy familiarity that made you feel less overwhelmed.

“That’s the main lab,” he said, gesturing through a glass panel at a sprawling space filled with machinery and workstations. “If you’re lucky, you’ll end up with a professor who doesn’t believe in piling on assignments over the weekend. If not…” He gave you a knowing glance, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’ll survive,” you said, smiling back.

“You will,” he agreed, his tone warmer now. “It’s not all bad. Once you get into a rhythm, it’s… almost fun. Almost.”

His dry humor caught you off guard again, and you found yourself laughing softly as he continued walking. The tension you’d felt earlier in the day had almost entirely faded, replaced by a quiet sense of ease you hadn’t expected.

Yet, as you passed by groups of students, you noticed the stares again—subtle at first, but growing more frequent. Heads turned as Jeno walked by, some students offering nods of acknowledgment, others sneaking glances that lingered just a second too long. You felt the weight of their gazes and assumed it was because you were new, someone unfamiliar walking through spaces they knew so well. But then you realized their focus wasn’t on you at all.

It was on Jeno.

He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t change his stride or posture, but the quiet magnetism he carried seemed to draw people in without him needing to say a word. The way he moved—confident but not cocky, approachable yet distant—held an effortless allure, and the attention he received seemed so natural, so ingrained in the fabric of who he was, that he didn’t even notice it anymore.

But you did. And it left you wondering just how much more there was to Jeno than what he was letting you see.

The thought lingered, settling into your chest like a spark waiting to catch. He slowed as you reached a fork in the path, turning toward you with that same effortless composure, his hands still tucked into his pockets. His gaze held yours briefly, steady but unreadable, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier than the quiet around you.

“Do you need me to show you anything else? Or…?” he asked, his tone calm, neutral, yet carrying an undercurrent that made your stomach twist.

You shook your head quickly, not trusting yourself to say much. “No, I think I’m good,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

“You sure?”

You nodded again, though the look in both of your eyes felt unreadable—something almost feral and dangerous simmering just beneath the surface. The intensity of it made your chest tighten, your breath catching slightly as you managed a soft hum of confirmation.

He smiled then, slow and deliberate, and something about the curve of his lips made the tension between you feel impossibly sharp.

You never imagined your first day at a new college would end like this—naked beneath a man whose body pressed so intimately against yours, his heat swallowing you whole.

Lee Jeno.

His bare skin was warm and firm against yours, the weight of his body grounding you as though he was the only thing tethering you to reality. His face hovered just above yours, dark eyes soft but intent, holding a depth that made your breath catch. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was taking you in, like every detail mattered. A faint smile played on his lips, teasing but tender, as though he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than either of you could admit.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he murmured, his voice low, his breath brushing your lips. His words weren’t rushed or rehearsed—they spilled out like a confession, a secret meant only for you. “Since the second I saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

The sound of his voice sent a soft shiver down your spine, your body arching slightly toward him before you could stop yourself. His gaze flicked to yours, his smile widening just enough to show he noticed. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was gentle at first, testing, like he was savoring every second. But as you pressed into him, your hands sliding up to his neck, fingers threading into his hair, the kiss deepened.

You moaned softly against his mouth, the sound escaping before you could stifle it, but Jeno didn’t hesitate. He tilted his head, kissing you deeper, slower, his lips moving against yours with a rhythm that felt intoxicating. His hands slid along your sides, his touch featherlight but warm, steadying you, grounding you in the heat building between you.

“I don’t do this,” you murmured, your words breaking softly against his lips as you pulled back just enough to speak.

His brows furrowed slightly, his expression shifting as his gaze locked onto yours. “Do what?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with curiosity.

“This,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the weight of the admission sinking into the space between you.

Jeno’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement breaking through his seriousness, but there was no mockery in his expression—only tenderness. “What are we doing?” he murmured, his tone dropping lower as he leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours. “I’m not even—fuck—I haven’t even been inside you yet. All we’re doing is kissing.”

“That still means a lot to me,” you admitted, your voice quiet but firm, your eyes meeting his with a vulnerability that left you feeling bare in a way his touch never could.

His smirk softened, his expression melting into something warmer, more open. “Me too,” he said softly, his voice brushing against your skin as his hand moved to cradle your jaw. His thumb swept along your cheek as he kissed you again, slower this time, pouring everything unspoken into the touch of his lips against yours.

You kissed him back, your hands slipping down to rest against his shoulders, tracing the curve of his muscles as your lips moved together. “Can we just… kiss for now?” you murmured between breaths, your voice tinged with hesitance but steady. “I’m not—I’m not ready for more yet.”

Jeno pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours as his hand slid down to rest against your waist. “Of course,” he said, his tone soft and filled with understanding, the words settling between you like a promise.

A faint laugh escaped his lips, the sound low and warm, as his forehead rested lightly against yours. You swallowed, your cheeks flushed as you took in the softness in his gaze, his warmth grounding you.

“I thought I was ready to fuck,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your voice was quiet, trembling slightly, but the truth of it lingered heavily in the space between you. “But I’m not.”

Jeno paused, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that softened almost immediately into understanding. His thumb brushed gently against your jaw, his touch steady and comforting.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “that’s okay.” His lips curved into a faint smile, and he leaned in, brushing the lightest kiss against your forehead before returning to hover just above your lips. “I get it. We’ll go slow. Whatever you want.”

The two of you melted into each other, the weight of your bodies pressed together as you kissed deeply. Jeno’s hands roamed lightly over your skin, not demanding, but exploring, each touch deliberate and careful. His fingertips grazed your sides, his palms warm against your waist as his lips moved against yours in a rhythm that felt unending.

Soft moans escaped both of you, the sounds mixing with the faint rustle of the sheets as you shifted closer, your bodies aligning instinctively. His lips traveled down to your jaw, brushing kisses along the curve before returning to your mouth, capturing you in another deep kiss that left your head spinning.

He pulled back slightly, his lips brushing yours as he smiled—a soft, almost shy smile that felt intimate in a way words couldn’t capture. And when you smiled back, his eyes flicked to your lips, his breath catching as though he couldn’t look away.

Time faded as you made out with him, your hands exploring the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, while his touch mirrored yours with the same careful reverence. It wasn’t about rushing toward something more—it was about this, the closeness, the heat, the way his lips felt like they could drown out the rest of the world.

Between kisses, his lips brushed against yours in a pause, his voice soft and low. “I hope I’ve helped you settle in,” he murmured, the words carrying a quiet warmth that sent a shiver through you.

Your breath hitched, and you managed a faint, breathless laugh, leaning into him as your fingers tangled in his hair. “You have,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you kissed him again, pouring the weight of your gratitude and everything unspoken into the connection.

December 31st

The golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the apartment’s sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You sat cross-legged on your bed, staring at the few clothes you’d pulled from your closet and thrown across the mattress. None of them felt right, and the familiar swirl of hesitation churned in your stomach.

Chaewon, your roommate, was perched on the arm of the couch in the corner, flipping through her phone but stealing occasional glances at you. She’d been patient—so sweet and supportive since you moved in—but her enthusiasm for the night ahead was clear.

“You know,” she began, her voice light and playful, “you’ve been staring at the same pile of clothes for the past ten minutes.”

You groaned softly, leaning back on your hands. “Nothing feels… right. I don’t know what to wear.”

Chaewon set her phone down and came over, her steps light against the hardwood floors. “It’s just a party,” she said, sitting at the edge of your bed and reaching for one of the sweaters you’d discarded. “You’re overthinking it.”

“I know,” you admitted, sighing. “I just—I don’t want to feel out of place.”

“You won’t,” she said, her tone reassuring but not dismissive. She pulled out a plaid skirt you hadn’t touched in months and held it up, eyeing it critically. “What about this? With that cardigan you wore last week—the cute one with the buttons?”

You tilted your head, considering it. “You think that’s okay?”

“More than okay,” she said, smiling as she laid the pieces next to each other. “It’s adorable, but not over the top. It’s perfect for New Year’s.”

You hesitated, your hands brushing over the fabric of the skirt. “I don’t know… it feels like a lot.”

“It’s not,” she insisted, her voice warm but firm. “It’s fun and cute and still very you. Trust me on this.”

Something about her tone made you relax a little. Chaewon had a way of making things seem easier, simpler, like the world didn’t have to feel so complicated all the time. You nodded, picking up the skirt and standing to hold it against yourself.

“Okay,” you said, glancing at her. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Good choice,” she said, grinning.

The next half hour passed in a calm, comfortable rhythm. You changed into the outfit she’d suggested, smoothing the hem of the skirt and adjusting the cardigan over your shoulders. The warmth of the wool felt grounding, and when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you didn’t hate what you saw.

Chaewon was busy slipping into her own dress, a sleek black number that hugged her frame perfectly. She paired it with boots that gave her just enough height to make her stride commanding but not intimidating.

“You look amazing,” you said without thinking, and Chaewon laughed, a soft, genuine sound.

“Thanks,” she said, running her hands over the fabric. “You do too, by the way.”

You smiled, fiddling with the buttons on your cardigan. “I don’t know if I feel ready for this.”

“You don’t have to be ready,” she said, her voice gentle as she stepped closer. “You just have to go. Try to have fun. That’s all that matters tonight.”

The simplicity of her words made you pause. She wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding anything of you—just encouraging you to take a small step out of your comfort zone.

“Thanks, Chaewon,” you said softly, your voice carrying more gratitude than you could put into words.

She shrugged, her smile easy and warm. “That’s what roommates are for.”

You both finished getting ready in companionable silence, the occasional murmur of shared thoughts filling the space. When you sat on the edge of your bed to lace up your boots, Chaewon glanced over at you again.

“Okay, be honest,” she said, tilting her head as she studied you. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about it, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your skirt. “Yeah,” you said after a moment, surprised by how true it felt. “I think I do.”

“Good,” she said, her grin widening. She grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair and threw it on. “Because tonight is going to be fun. I promise.”

Her optimism was infectious, and as you grabbed your own coat and followed her to the door, you found yourself starting to believe her. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You needed optimism. You needed something to distract you from the quiet storm that had been swirling in your mind ever since that night. You hadn’t told Chaewon about Jeno, about how he’d stayed at your apartment, how the two of you had crossed boundaries you hadn’t even known you were capable of crossing. It wasn’t something you did—hooking up with someone you’d barely met felt entirely too intimate, too raw, too unfamiliar.

And yet, it had happened. You could still feel the weight of his hands on your hips, the way his lips moved against yours like he was trying to memorize every second. It had been so much more than you expected—charged, overwhelming, and impossibly tender.

Maybe that was why you hadn’t reached out to him. The feelings it stirred in you were too intense, too complicated to sort through. You didn’t even know where you would begin if you tried to explain it to Chaewon. So, you’d kept it to yourself, burying it under the routine of settling into your new life here.

But as you walked out the door into the crisp evening air, you couldn’t help but wonder if the memory of him would follow you tonight. Would the warmth of his voice, the heat of his gaze, creep back in when you least expected it? You shook the thought away, determined to focus on the present, to let Chaewon’s easy laughter and excitement pull you into something lighter, something that didn’t weigh so heavily on your chest.

For now, you just needed to keep moving forward.

The Uber ride was quiet except for Chaewon humming softly to her playlist, tapping her fingers against her thigh to the beat. You stared out the window, the dim city lights reflecting faintly in the glass, a small pit of nervousness forming in your stomach. Chaewon had been so excited about tonight, her enthusiasm almost contagious, but as you neared the house, the faint pulse of music vibrating through the cold air made you grip your coat tighter.

“You’ll be fine,” Chaewon said suddenly, breaking the silence. She turned to you with a knowing smile, as if she could read your thoughts.

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, glancing at her.

“Your face did,” she shot back, her tone light but laced with warmth. “Look, it’s just a party. You don’t have to love it, but you do have to at least pretend to try.”

You sighed, sinking back into your seat. “You sound like my mom,” you muttered, earning a laugh from her.

“Good. Then maybe you’ll listen,” she teased, nudging your arm gently.

By the time the car pulled up in front of the house, the music was pounding, loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Chaewon opened her door eagerly, stepping out and holding it open for you as she gestured toward the sprawling house.

“Here we go,” she said brightly.

The house was chaos. People spilled out onto the lawn, some holding red cups, others perched on the porch steps laughing or smoking. Inside, the energy was even more overwhelming—music thumped from every corner, the floor vibrating with the bass as a sea of bodies danced, talked, or hovered around the kitchen counters stacked with bottles.

“This is insane,” you murmured, your eyes darting around the packed living room.

Chaewon grabbed your arm gently, steering you through the crowd. “It’s college. Welcome to your first real party.”

The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and faint traces of weed. Every corner seemed occupied—people were dancing with abandon in the middle of the room, making out in the dimly lit hallway, or lounging on the staircase like they owned the place.

You felt entirely out of place, gripping the plastic cup Chaewon had handed you so tightly that your knuckles whitened. She, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease, weaving through the crowd like she belonged there, greeting people with quick hugs and easy smiles.

“Relax,” she said over her shoulder, noticing your stiff posture. “You’re not going to bite anyone.”

You tried to force a smile, the knot in your stomach tightening as you glanced around again. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted.

“Of course, you can,” she replied, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “Just breathe. Parties are about letting loose—not thinking too much. You’ve got this.”

“Whose party is this, anyway?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Lee Jeno’s,” she said casually, but her grin widened as she saw your expression shift.

“Jeno,” you both said at the same time, though your voice was softer, more disbelieving.

Your eyes scanned the room again, and then you saw him.

Jeno stood near the staircase, his presence commanding without even trying. His dark hair was effortlessly tousled, framing sharp features that seemed almost unfairly perfect under the dim lighting. He wore a plain white shirt, the fabric clinging slightly to the defined lines of his chest and shoulders, the faint outline of muscle visible every time he shifted. His black trousers hung low on his hips, loose but just fitted enough to hint at the lean strength of his frame, his entire demeanor radiating a casual confidence that made it impossible to look away.

He was surrounded by people, their laughter too loud, their smiles too eager, as though just being near him was enough. And yet, his gaze seemed distant, uninterested in the crowd orbiting him like moths to a flame, making his magnetism even harder to ignore.

The room around you seemed to dissolve the moment his gaze found yours, the faintest flicker of recognition sparking in his dark eyes. His smile pulled at the corner of his lips slowly, as if he was savoring the moment, deliberate and laced with something you couldn’t name. He leaned closer to the group he was with, murmuring a few words that had them nodding, though his focus didn’t waver from you.

Each step he took in your direction felt unhurried yet purposeful, his frame cutting through the crowd with an ease that drew glances and whispers. His shirt clung lightly to the defined curve of his chest, his shoulders moving fluidly under the fabric. When he stopped in front of you, his eyes lingered, sweeping over your face in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Hi,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, yet his lips twitched, like he’d heard every syllable.

“Hi,” he replied, his tone soft, the single word brushing the air between you like a touch. His gaze flicked to your mouth for a brief second before returning to your eyes, a question hanging unspoken.

He tilted his head, his expression calm but intent, the faintest crease forming between his brows. His voice dipped lower, quieter, as he spoke. “You haven’t answered any of my messages.”

Your heart jumped, the guilt bubbling up before you could stop it. “I know,” you murmured, looking down at your drink. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know what to say.”

Jeno’s expression softened, though the intensity of his gaze didn’t waver. “You could’ve started with ‘hi,’” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You let out a shaky laugh, lifting your eyes to meet his again. “I guess I could have,” you admitted quietly.

His eyes moved over you slowly, unhurried but purposeful, as though he was trying to memorize every detail. When his gaze finally met yours again, his teeth caught his bottom lip, a subtle movement that only emphasized the tension etched into his expression. There was no smirk, no teasing glint in his eyes—just something raw and unfiltered that made your heart lurch.

“You look pretty,” he said, his voice low and steady, each word carrying a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. His lips parted slightly as though he might say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he held your gaze, his eyes locked on yours like he was waiting for your reaction, waiting for you to understand just how much he meant it.

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the compliment. “Mmm, you look good too,” you said, your tone soft and unsteady as your eyes roamed over him.

He smiled, the corner of his mouth tugging upward just enough to reveal a hint of mischief. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice quiet but deliberate.

“Me too,” you replied, though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

He chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “You sure? Doesn’t sound like you’re having fun.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “This party isn’t really… my thing,” you admitted.

Jeno placed a hand over his chest, feigning a dramatic wince. “Ouch.”

“No!” you said quickly, laughing nervously. “I’m sure your parties are great. I just—I’m not a party person.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his tone light, teasing.

“Yeah,” you said firmly, though your voice still wavered.

He studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “Stay here, okay?” he said finally, his tone gentler now. “I’ll be back. Give me five minutes.”

You nodded, your breath catching as you watched him disappear into the crowd. The space he left behind felt stark, like the absence of him created a vacuum you couldn’t ignore. The buzz of the party pressed back in slowly, but the air felt different now—charged with the weight of unspoken questions and quiet murmurs that seemed to ripple outward.

You became hyperaware of the stares. People’s gazes flicked between you and the direction Jeno had gone, their whispers barely audible over the music but unmistakable. Girls leaned into one another, exchanging quick glances and hushed words, their eyes darting toward you before quickly looking away. The weight of their attention made your chest tighten, heat rising to your cheeks as you struggled to process the shift.

“Y/N.”

Chaewon’s hand closed around your arm, her grip firm but not harsh as she turned you to face her. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and something that bordered on awe, her eyes wide as she searched your face.

“What just happened?” she demanded, her voice louder than you expected, cutting through the noise of the party.

You hesitated, your chest tightening as you struggled to find the right words. “Me and Jeno met before,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the thumping bass.

Chaewon blinked, her jaw slackening as she processed your words. “You what?” she asked, the pitch of her voice rising slightly. “When? Did you—did you sleep with him?”

Your face flushed, the heat spreading down your neck as you shook your head quickly. “No, we only made out,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you intended. “It was after I met him on campus, and he showed me around.”

Chaewon stared at you like you’d just confessed to something outrageous, her mouth opening and closing as though she couldn’t decide what to say first. Her grip on your arm loosened slightly, but her expression only grew more incredulous.

“Y/N,” she said finally, her tone slow, deliberate, like she needed to make sure you understood the gravity of what you’d just said. “Do you even know who Lee Jeno is?”

You gave her a blank look, unsure where she was going with this. “What do you mean?”

She let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, rolling her eyes dramatically before leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s, like, the most well-known guy on campus. Everyone knows him. He’s smart, he’s hot, he’s on the basketball team, and he’s practically impossible to get close to. People talk about him like he’s some kind of campus legend. And you’re telling me you just… made out with him?”

Her words hung in the air, the weight of them sinking into your chest as you replayed that night in your head. Jeno had been all of those things—charming, confident, and entirely out of your league—but in the quiet of your apartment, he hadn’t felt untouchable. He’d felt real, grounded, like he wasn’t the larger-than-life figure Chaewon was describing but just… Jeno.

“I didn’t know,” you admitted, your voice small, almost drowned out by the pounding music.

Chaewon shook her head in disbelief, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you. “Of course you didn’t. That’s why this is insane. You’re just sitting here like it’s no big deal when half the girls in this room would kill to be you right now.”

You looked away, your gaze drifting to the crowd as the whispers continued to ripple around you. The weight of their attention was suffocating, but it wasn’t their stares or even Chaewon’s words that lingered. It was Jeno—his calm, deliberate presence, the way his voice dipped when he spoke to you, the way his eyes lingered like he was seeing something no one else could.

Before you could respond, Jeno reappeared, a black jacket now draped over his shoulders, zipped halfway up to combat the chill of the night. The stark contrast of the dark fabric against the white of his shirt only made him look more striking, the clean lines of his lean frame framed perfectly. A bag was slung casually over one shoulder, his fingers curled loosely around the strap. His dark eyes, calm yet intent, settled on you with an ease that made your stomach flip.

“Wanna come?” he asked, his voice low, the casual tone of his question at odds with the intensity of his gaze.

You blinked, startled by the suddenness of his words. “What?”

“You think that the party’s dead,” he said simply, his lips curving into a faint smirk that felt more intimate than playful. “So let’s leave.”

Your heart raced as you stared at him, the heat of his attention making it hard to focus. The room around you seemed to blur, the noise fading into the background as his hand extended toward you, steady and certain. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers slipping into his warm grasp.

You didn’t question it. Instead, you smiled softly, the corners of your lips twitching upward as you let him pull you closer. The smell of his cologne—a faint, woodsy scent with an edge of something sharp—lingered as he leaned in, his lips brushing so close to your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, the words barely audible over the thrum of the party, but they landed squarely in your chest, making your breath catch.

Your eyes darted around quickly, taking in the crowd of people that still lingered nearby, their whispers and glances now tinged with curiosity. You bit your lip, your gaze flicking back to his as heat rose to your cheeks.

“Later,” you promised softly, your voice trembling just slightly, though the smile you gave him was steady.

Jeno’s lips twitched into a knowing grin, his dark eyes holding yours for a moment longer before he nodded. He tightened his grip on your hand gently, leading you toward the door with a quiet confidence that felt impossible to resist.

As the two of you weaved through the crowd, the whispers grew louder, people openly staring now as they watched him leave—watched you leave with him. The thrum of the music seemed almost muffled compared to the pounding in your chest, and as you reached the door, the cool night air washed over you like a sharp inhale.

“Wait,” you said suddenly, a gasp slipping past your lips. “You’re leaving your own party?”

Jeno glanced back at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said easily, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s my party. I can do what I want.”

His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an edge of sincerity in the way he looked at you—like he meant every word. And before you could question it further, he squeezed your hand, pulling you closer as the two of you stepped into the night.

Jeno had taken you to a secluded spot along the riverbank, where the city lights shimmered faintly on the water and the distant hum of the party was little more than a memory. The air was crisp, the faint scent of the river mingling with the promise of snow, but Jeno seemed entirely unbothered by the chill. He led you to a cozy bench overlooking the river, the kind of spot that felt impossibly picturesque, where a blanket and a small bag of snacks were waiting.

“I told you, best view of the fireworks,” he said, his voice calm yet confident, as if the quiet intimacy of the moment had been crafted just for you.

You smiled at the gesture, settling onto the blanket he’d spread over the bench. Before you could fully take in the setting, Jeno’s attention shifted to a nearby vendor, where a small cart steamed with the rich scent of hot chocolate. Without asking, he stood and wandered over, returning moments later with two cups in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing one to you, his hand brushing yours in a way that made your breath hitch. The warmth of the cup seeped through your gloves, but it was his quiet, thoughtful gesture that really sent a shiver down your spine.

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing up at him as he settled back beside you.

He smiled, soft and easy, before taking a sip of his own. “Hot chocolate always makes the cold easier to deal with,” he said lightly, the nonchalance in his tone almost making you laugh.

You took a tentative sip, the rich, velvety taste warming you from the inside out. “You’re right,” you admitted, nodding slightly as you turned to look at him, your breath visible in the cold night air.

Jeno’s gaze lingered on you, dark and steady, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Told you,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, quieter, as though the space between you had just shrunk.

Conversation had come easily after that, the hot chocolate warming your hands while Jeno’s presence seemed to settle the nerves that had been simmering since the night began. You talked about the most mundane things—classes, favorite foods, what New Year’s resolutions you’d already broken—and yet, the simplicity of it all felt impossibly intimate.

Still, it wasn’t long before the conversation gave way to something quieter, something heavier. Jeno’s hand brushed yours as he set his cup down, and the warmth of his touch lingered, sparking a need for closeness that you hadn’t anticipated.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was as gentle as the snow beginning to fall around you. At first, it was soft, exploratory, his hand cupping your cheek as though he was afraid to break you. But as you leaned into him, your fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, the kiss deepened, his lips pressing firmer against yours with a hunger that felt both cautious and consuming.

The fireworks began to crackle faintly in the distance, but you hardly noticed, your focus completely on the way Jeno’s mouth moved against yours. His breath hitched as you tilted your head, your lips parting just slightly, and he took the opportunity to pull you closer, his hands settling on your waist with a confidence that made your heart race.

Every time you tried to pull back, his gaze would catch yours, his eyes dark and intense, as though he couldn’t let you go even for a moment. And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t rushed—it was deliberate, a quiet exploration that left you dizzy and clinging to him.

“Jeno,” you murmured against his lips, though you weren’t even sure what you wanted to say.

He smiled into the kiss, his hand moving to cradle the back of your neck. “Yeah?” he whispered, his tone playful but weighted, like he already knew the answer.

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping as your fingers tightened slightly on his jacket. “Nothing,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again, unwilling to let the moment break.

The fireworks continued overhead, lighting the sky in bursts of color, but neither of you paid them much attention. Every touch, every kiss, every soft sigh seemed to pull you deeper into the warmth of each other, the cold night air fading into irrelevance.

The plan had been to stay here until midnight, to watch the fireworks and celebrate the New Year together. But somewhere in the middle of his kisses, his hands sliding carefully along your sides, his breath warm against your cheek, your resolve shifted.

You didn’t want to wait for midnight.

You wanted him.

And now, somehow, you were here, pressed beneath him on his bed, your body trembling as his warmth consumed you.

The soft cotton of his sheets grounded you, but it was Jeno’s weight above you that anchored you completely, his warmth pressing into every inch of your body like it was made to fit against him. His broad shoulders framed the space above you, his lean, muscled frame draped over yours with a control that made every inch of your skin hyperaware of him. The planes of his chest, taut and warm, brushed against your trembling hands as you clung to him, your fingers curling instinctively into his skin.

His dark eyes stayed locked on yours, a quiet intensity softening into something tender, something that left you breathless and uncertain. His lips hovered close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath, each exhale ghosting across your cheek as his forehead dipped closer, brushing yours with infinite care.

“You need to ease up for me, okay, pretty girl?” he murmured, the gravel in his voice softened by the steady, soothing cadence of his words.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, trembling and unsure, as the stretch of his cock forced a fresh wave of shivers through you. Your thighs trembled on either side of his hips, your body tensing despite his careful pace. Each inch he gave you felt impossibly overwhelming, the fullness of him a constant, steady ache that bordered on too much.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, the weight of him pushing the air from your lungs with each shift of his hips. A tear slipped free before you could stop it, the overwhelmed sniffle that followed breaking the stillness between you.

“Hey, hey,” Jeno cooed, his hand finding your cheek like it belonged there, cradling you with infinite care. His thumb brushed the tear away before it could roll any further, his gaze softening even as his own breaths grew heavier. “I know, baby. I know it’s a lot.”

His words were gentle but steady, his tone so unwavering it felt like a tether, something to hold onto as your body struggled to adjust. He leaned closer, brushing his lips over the corner of your mouth in a kiss so soft it made your chest ache.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, the heat of his breath grazing your trembling lips. “Just trust me, yeah? I just want to make you feel good. That’s all I want, pretty girl.”

Your breath hitched again, the sound breaking unevenly as you tried to steady yourself beneath him. The weight of his words, the tenderness in his tone, melted into the vulnerability pressing heavy on your chest. You nodded hesitantly, your fingers tightening against the curve of his shoulders as though you needed to anchor yourself to him.

But when you glanced away, embarrassed by the flush of heat crawling up your neck, his hand caught your chin gently, tilting your face back toward him.

“Hey,” he whispered, the warmth in his voice curling around you like a blanket, quiet but unyielding. “Talk to me, baby. I need to know you’re okay.”

Your lips trembled, the words caught somewhere between the lump in your throat and the butterflies swarming in your stomach. “It’s… it’s my first time,” you finally admitted, the words barely audible, your voice breaking under the weight of them.

Jeno’s movements stilled immediately, his broad frame freezing over you as the confession settled between you. His jaw clenched briefly, but the flicker of surprise in his eyes was fleeting, replaced almost instantly by something warmer, softer.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, the reverence in his voice making your chest tighten. His thumb stroked along your cheekbone, his touch steady and patient as though he was trying to tell you everything he felt without saying a word. “I’m so lucky.”

The way he said it, low and aching with sincerity, sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching toward him before you could stop yourself. He kissed you then, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so slow, so deep, it felt like time itself had slowed to accommodate it.

When he pulled back, his breath was heavier, a faint tremor running through him as he studied you. “How are you a virgin?” he asked softly, his voice dipping low enough to send heat curling through your stomach. “If I’d met you sooner… I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off you.”

His words sent a flush of warmth cascading over your skin, your breath stuttering as you tried to respond. But the sincerity in his gaze held you, steadying you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Until now,” you whispered, your fingers curling into his shoulders like you needed to hold on to something solid.

His breath hitched, his lips brushing against your temple in a kiss so tender it made your chest ache. “Until now,” he echoed, the reverence in his tone making your stomach flip.

He shifted slightly above you, his hips tilting forward just enough to press deeper, and the stretch sent a sharp gasp tumbling from your lips. His movements stilled instantly, his hand sliding to your waist to steady you as his lips hovered close to your ear.

“Too much?” he asked softly, his voice so gentle it nearly undid you.

You shook your head, your breath catching as you murmured, “Just… just go slow.”

The corners of his lips tugged upward, a faint smile breaking through the intensity of his expression. “I’ll go as slow as you need, baby,” he murmured, his tone steady and sure. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

His lips found yours again, capturing the soft sniffle that escaped as he began to move, each thrust measured and deliberate, his cock dragging against every sensitive part of you. His hands roamed gently over your body, his touch light but grounding as he whispered praises that melted into your skin.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. “Taking me so perfectly. My good girl, always.”

The tenderness in his tone, the heat in his gaze, the deliberate care in every movement—it all combined into something overwhelming and impossibly sweet, a connection that felt far too intimate to put into words. Your walls fluttered around him, the stretch easing as pleasure began to bloom low in your stomach, each gentle thrust coaxing you further into the rhythm of his body.

His forehead pressed to yours, his breath mingling with yours as he murmured, “You’re mine, baby. All mine. No one else gets to see you like this.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach, your hips shifting tentatively against him as the ache dulled into something deeper, sweeter. His hand slid down to cup your hip, guiding you gently as his movements grew slightly more deliberate, the drag of his cock drawing soft whimpers from your throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking as his lips trailed along your jaw. “You feel so good. So perfect for me.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your breath catching as his words melted into your skin, the heat of him overwhelming in the best way. Every inch of him, every touch, every whisper felt like a steady hum of electricity coursing through your veins, and as his lips found yours again, you felt yourself melting into him completely. But the burn was still there—sharp and all-consuming—and before you could stop yourself, your teeth pressed into the curve of his shoulder, a desperate attempt to muffle the whimper that escaped you. Tears slid down your cheeks, your breath trembling as you sniffled, your body shaking beneath him.

Jeno stilled instantly, his voice soft as he cooed at you, the words a balm against the ache. “Shh, baby, it’s okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing over your temple, your cheek, catching the tears as they fell. “You’re doing so good for me, angel. I’ll go slow, okay? Just the tip, just for you. You’ve got this.”

His thumb swept across your jaw, tipping your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze, dark and molten, filled with nothing but care. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised again, the words dripping with reverence. “You’re my girl. Whatever you need, I’ve got you.”

Your breath hitched as he began to move again, slow and deliberate, every inch of him dragging against the tender stretch inside you. Your hands fumbled for purchase on his shoulders, sliding up to his neck, your touch shaky and desperate. “Jeno,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible, trembling with every word. “You—you feel so good.”

His lips curved into a soft smile, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “Yeah?” he murmured, his voice thick with warmth, his hips tilting forward in a way that made you gasp.

“So good,” you whispered, your words tumbling out unbidden as heat flushed through your body. “You’re so big—so perfect. God, you fit inside me so well. I don’t—” You broke off, blinking up at him, your lips trembling as your thoughts scattered into a mess of heat and pleasure. “I don’t ever want you to leave. Jeno, your cock—it’s so good. You’re stretching me so perfectly. I can feel every part of you.”

A whimper caught in your throat as you babbled on, your head tipping back against the pillow. “I love it, Jeno. I love how you feel inside me. You’re so deep, so thick—I don’t want it to stop.”

His chuckle was low and rough, vibrating through your chest as he leaned in to press a kiss to your nose. “You’re such a sweet thing,” he murmured, his voice teasing but tender. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. So perfect. I’ll take care of you.”

Your thighs tightened around his waist as he shifted, the motion deliberate, deep, coaxing another broken cry from your lips. His hand slid along your side, pausing to cup your cheek as he brushed his thumb across your skin. “Look at you,” he said softly, his tone filled with awe. “Fucking perfect.”

The words melted into you, your chest tightening as you whimpered again, the sensation of him overwhelming and grounding all at once. “Please don’t stop,” you whispered, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “Please, Jeno.”

“Never,” he murmured, his lips finding yours in a kiss so soft it made your stomach flutter. “I’ve got you, angel. Always.”

The promise in his words, in his tone, wrapped around you like silk, but even as you nodded, sniffling softly, you could feel the deliberate way his cock edged deeper, the fullness stretching you beyond what you thought possible. It was slow, so slow you could feel every ridge, every vein, and it made your breath hitch, a soft cry escaping your lips as tears slipped free.

“Shh,” he cooed, his forehead pressing harder against yours. “You’ve got this, angel. You’re so fucking perfect.” He shifted his weight slightly, tilting his hips in a way that made the stretch just bearable enough to keep going. “Fuck,” he groaned, the sound low and guttural as he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt. “Baby, you feel so fucking good. Like heaven.”

Your walls fluttered around him instinctively, the sensation pulling a soft, broken moan from your lips. “I—it’s so much,” you whimpered, your thighs trembling as you gripped him tighter, your nails digging crescents into his skin.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, kissing the tears from your cheeks, his lips impossibly soft. “I know it’s a lot, but look at you—look how well you’re taking me. God, you’re so good for me.”

Your breath hitched as his hand cradled your face, thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. His gaze stayed locked on yours, warm and consuming, his expression so unguarded it made your chest ache. “Let me see those pretty eyes,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, each word dripping with reverence. “I want to see you, baby. Every part of you.”

You sniffled softly, blinking up at him, your lashes wet, your lips trembling as you melted further into his touch. His thumb lingered against your cheek, slow and gentle, before he leaned in and kissed your temple, soft and lingering.

“There she is,” he murmured, his voice warm and filled with awe. “That’s my girl. So beautiful. So perfect for me.”

When he moved again, it was torturously slow, his cock dragging against every inch of you, the stretch deep and unforgiving, yet impossibly good. Your nails dug into his back, desperate for an anchor as his hips rocked forward, every motion deliberate and controlled. It burned, but the way he filled you, the way his body molded perfectly against yours, had your breath catching.

A soft whimper escaped, your lips parting on a shaky moan. “Jeno…” you breathed, the words trailing off as heat flooded your body, the fullness overwhelming but addictive.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. His hips rolled deeper, and he gritted his teeth, the sound low and guttural. “You’re so tight—so perfect. Like you were made for me.”

Your laugh was light, bubbling out unbidden, and his gaze flicked up, curious but amused, his lips curving into the smallest smile. “What’s funny, huh?” he teased, his tone playful, his hand shifting to cradle the back of your neck.

You shook your head, breathless and flushed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Nothing—nothing. You’re just… God, you’re so sexy.” Your voice cracked on the last word, your thoughts spilling in a soft, frantic rush. “The way you feel, the way you fuck me—it’s so good. You’re so good, Jeno.”

His smile widened, his eyes darkening as his hand slid up to catch yours, lacing your fingers together. “Yeah?” he murmured, kissing you with quiet intensity before guiding your joined hands above your head, pinning them against the pillow. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice dipping lower, filled with something possessive and raw. “I want you to be mine.”

Your breath hitched as he kissed your knuckles, slow and reverent, his other hand tracing your side, holding you steady as he pushed deeper. “I’ll never let go,” he promised, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “I’ll always take care of you, angel.”

His hips rolled again, a deliberate press that made you gasp, your head tipping back against the pillow as tears spilled freely. “You feel so good,” you whimpered, your voice breaking, your chest tightening with every drag of his cock. “You’re so perfect. So thick—fuck, you stretch me so good, Jeno.”

He groaned softly, his lips brushing yours in a fleeting kiss. “You love how I feel inside you, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, but tender all the same.

“I love it,” you admitted, the words slipping out in a trembling rush. “I love your cock—it’s so big, so perfect. I never want you to stop.��

His grip on your hands tightened, his forehead dropping to yours as his lips curved into a smile. “You’re something else,” he murmured, chuckling softly, his breath fanning across your lips. “You’re incredible, baby.”

Your body trembled beneath him, every motion, every word sending a ripple of warmth through you. The intimacy of it, the way his hands never left yours, the way his eyes held yours, made you feel like you were falling deeper into him with every passing second.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth before his lips trailed to your jaw, his hips moving in a slow, devastating rhythm. “So fucking perfect, angel. My perfect girl. You’re all I’ll ever need.”

And when his gaze found yours again, dark and filled with unspoken promises, you knew he meant it. His movements stayed soft, measured, every drag of him a reminder of just how much he wanted you—how much he adored you. His hand never left yours, his grip steady and unwavering, as if to say he’d never let go. You believed him. In every touch, every word, every breath, you believed him completely.

The rhythm of his thrusts slowed, each one deliberate, the deep press of him inside you stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body arched against his, desperate to meet every movement, and the sound of his name fell from your lips in broken cries that only seemed to spur him on. His cock dragged against every sensitive part of you, and the stretch—sharp at first, now addictively sweet—had your thighs trembling around his waist.

“Fuck,” Jeno groaned, his forehead pressed to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every ragged breath. His hand slid along your side, tracing the curve of your waist as if he needed to feel every part of you. His other hand tangled with yours, pinning it above your head, his grip steady and possessive. “You’re so perfect, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “So tight, so warm. God, you feel like heaven.”

Your fingers curled around his, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline. “Jeno,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as you struggled to find the words. “You—oh my God—you feel so good. So deep. I never—” Your breath hitched, your head tipping back as his hips rolled again, deeper this time, hitting a spot that sent white-hot pleasure spiraling through your body.

“Never what?” he teased softly, his lips brushing over your jaw, his tongue flicking against your skin in a way that made you shiver. “Tell me, baby. Never what?”

“Never felt like this,” you admitted, your voice cracking as a moan slipped free. “Never had anyone… like you. Fuck, you’re so perfect, Jeno. You fit so good—so big. I don’t ever want you to leave.”

He groaned, the sound vibrating through your chest as he captured your lips in a kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in slow, languid strokes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “You’re mine, angel. Always.”

The intimacy of it, the way his body moved against yours, the way his eyes never left yours, made your chest ache with something deeper than desire. His movements were slow but devastating, every thrust deliberate, his cock dragging against your walls with a precision that had you clinging to him, your nails scraping along his back.

“Jeno,” you whimpered again, your voice a desperate plea as the pressure built low in your stomach, coiling tighter with every second.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing over yours. “Let go for me, baby. I’ll catch you. Always.”

And then, just as the tension inside you reached its breaking point, the faint sound of fireworks filtered through the room, muffled but distinct, a symphony of crackles and booms that seemed to echo the chaos in your body.

Jeno chuckled softly, the sound warm and low in your ear. “Happy New Year, beautiful,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

You giggled, the sound mixing with a soft, breathless moan as your body tightened around him, the pleasure too much to contain. “Happy New Year,” you managed to whisper back, your voice trembling with affection and something deeper, something bigger than either of you.

His hips rolled again, the deep, steady rhythm pushing you over the edge, and when your release hit, it came in a wave that left you trembling beneath him. Your walls clenched around him, pulling a guttural groan from his throat as his movements faltered, his body shuddering with his own release. He buried himself deep, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer as you clung to him, your arms tightening around his neck.

The fireworks outside crackled louder, their light seeping faintly through the curtains as his lips found yours again, soft and lingering. His hand stayed wrapped around yours, his grip firm, as his other hand smoothed over your side, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

“You’re everything,” he murmured against your lips, his voice steady now, filled with quiet reverence. “Everything I’ve ever wanted.”

And in that moment, as his warmth surrounded you, his touch anchoring you in a way no one else ever had, you knew you’d never forget this. The way he fit against you, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go, the way he made you feel like you were everything.

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caffeinatedvigilantewriter · 5 months ago

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So Danny is older, and lives in Gotham as a mechanic (he could be a We mechanic, a JLA mechanic, whatever) and eventually, he starts dating Bruce Wayne.

Now, Danny knows the Wayne at the bats, it’s kinda hard to hide your vigilantism from a former vigilante. But Danny doesn’t mention it, he knows the dangerous of telling your loved ones.

Jazz is alive and a therapist is Coast City (Jazz x Hal? Could that work? Idk too much about the green lanterns). Dan is undercover to investigate pools of corrupted ectoplasm that’s guarded by an assassin cult, and Dani is still traveling the world, not for pleasure, but for the Realms.

Dani doesn’t age. It’s a side effect of being a clone. She destabilized one to many times and now her ghost half won’t let her age so she won’t die.

Dani can’t exactly settle down in a city likes the others. She looks 12. And while her siblings would take care of her in a heartbeat, she needs to fill her obsession of history and adventure.

So, she starts hunting for old artifacts, especially the magic ones. It’s a great way to learn about history and get a sense of adventure.

She’s been doing this for a couple years, building a name for herself and she gotten very good. (Keep in mind she only looks 12, but she’s actually like 33 mentally and intellectually)

Eventually, she crosses paths with a bat while searching for an artifact. (Even better if its Duke. We need more Duke. Probably won’t work with Cass, we’ll use Duke for the prompt, but can be switched out)

Obviously, Duke is kinda confused as to why a 12 yo is going after a dangerous magic artifact in the middle of but-fuck nowhere and offers to take her to Gotham and drops her off there after taking the artifact.

Dani knows better, she was going to refuse, but the realized she could take this as a free ride. So she agrees.

The reach Gotham and go their separate ways, and Duke goes home immediately, didn’t even take the time to tell anyone about the girl. but when Duke is at home hanging with their civilian stepdad, Danny gets a call and says he’s inviting his younger sister over

Bruce: Jazz? Jazz is older that you

Danny: nope! I have another sister!

Everyone: ???

Bruce: how comes we never meet her?

Danny: you have! She was at the wedding! But you’ll see her again don’t worry! She doesn’t visit often so I’m excited!

They arrives, the bat opens the door and Dani walks in.

Danny: Dani!!

Dani: Danny!!

So people are confused, Duke is like omg my aunt is an artifact hunter?? while everyone else is like omg my aunt is younger than me??

Eventually, Danny opens her backpack and goes:

Dani: so I was in *insert random place in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere* and found this! *pulls out artifact* I thought you would like so I brought it for you!

Danny: aww, thanks Dani, you shouldn’t have

Duke, who put that artifact in the cave for study: 👁️👄👁️

And Dani gives them a wink.

Duke isn’t going to take that lying down and attempts to find out Dani’s secrets while shes thwarting him at every turn.

Dani stays at the manor for a while, but nobody believe Duke when he tries warning them of Dani, because Duke didn’t tell anyone about the artifact

Things become even more alarming when Danny also start thwarting him, despite not know the family secret. (Danny thinks that Duke is onto the family secret.)

Cue crack, angst, fluff, whatever your heart desires.

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etherealyoungk · 2 months ago

Text

crush on you | choi seungcheol

SUMMARY: in which seungcheol is completely smitten by you and will do anything to hangout with you, even if it means eating spicy food.

PAIRING: seungcheol x reader

THEMES: acquaintances, friends to lovers

WARNINGS: flirting, fluff, just seungcheol being down bad for you.

WORDCOUNT: 2593

A/N: i just love seungcheol so much <3

the warm aroma of freshly ground coffee fills the air as you work behind the counter, expertly crafting yet another latte. seungcheol casually leans over the counter, his gaze fixed on you.

"are you free later after work?" he asks, his voice light. he seemed more interested in your response than in the coffee you were preparing.

you glance up, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "don’t you have better things to do? you’re always hanging out here. seriously, i’ll have to kick you out if you don’t order anything, it's store policy, sorry", you say, not bothering to look at him.

seungcheol chuckles softly, unfazed by your mock threat. "please, i know you secretly love having me around," he says with a grin that could rival the sun for brightness.

you snort, shaking your head as you continue to steam milk and fill cups, preparing orders. "yeah right, you’re a pain in the ass actually, go hang out somewhere else", you tell, which only makes him chuckle more.

it had become something of a routine—seungcheol dropping by the café, engaging in playful bickering, and sometimes even dragging out his visits just to be around you, but you enjoyed it. you enjoyed his company even though you sometimes didn't want to admit it.

you’d known seungcheol for almost a year now, having met him through your mutual friend, and as fate would have it, he also went to the same university as you, which meant you crossed paths with him more often than not.

"why?", you ask after a moment, looking up again, meeting his big, brown, sparkling eyes.

"just asking, i thought we could grab a bite to eat later, doesn't smelling all this make coffee and pastries all evening make you hungry?", he asks. you pause, a sigh escaping your lips as you consider his offer. because he was right. the only downfall of working in a cafe was the constant smell of pastries and cakes wafting in the air and it always made you so hungry.

"i guess we could, i don't have anything planned", you admit and seungcheol's face seems to light up at your response "great", he says.

seungcheol waits until you finish your shift and now you're both walking down the road, the evening slowly turning into night.

"what do you wanna eat?", he asks, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockes as he glances over at you.

you tilt your head to the side, thinking. "tteokbokki", you say slowly. "i want to eat tteokbokki", you say. so, that's how you both end up at at a small restaurant - the one you always went to when you craved tteokbokki. you order the food and you're waiting, and seungcheol kindly pours some water in a glass, placing it in front of you.

"you haven't eaten here before have you? this place really has the best tteokbokki in the area. i've tried all the tteokbokki in this area and this place really makes it the best!", you explain.

seungcheol's smile softens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. it was clear he was more amused by your enthusiasm than anything else. "you’re talking like you're a tteokbokki expert," he teases.

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest in mock offence. "of course i am. who do you take me for?", you say making him smile wider, his dimple peeking out and your heart does a little flip at the sight.

the food arrives and the rich, spicy red sauce glistens. the scent of the perfectly cooked rice cakes mixed with the spicy sauce makes your mouth water. your eyes light up with anticipation and you can't wait. you grab a piece and pop it into your mouth, only to wince as the heat catches you off guard.

"ahhh, it's hot!" you exclaim, fanning your mouth dramatically.

seungcheol is quick to react, handing you the cup of water. you take a grateful gulp of water, trying to cool your burning mouth. "slow down, the food isn't going anywhere", he says and you nod.

"aren't you eating?", you ask after a moment, as you take another rice cake, blowing on it this time before putting it in your mouth. you watch as seungcheol picks up a tteokbokki and carefully takes a bite out of it, chewing carefully.

"what do you think? it's good right?", you ask, leaning forward slightly and he nods. "yeah, it's good", he says, putting the rest of the rice cake in his mouth and chewing, before taking a sip of water, trying to hide his nervousness as he picks up another piece of tteokbokki. he had never told you, but spicy food wasn’t exactly his forte. you notice his discomfort and look at him with concern. “is it too spicy?”, you ask.

"no, it's fine, it's really good", he says immediately, taking another bite as he looks at you. though he was struggling to keep up with the heat, he didn't want to admit it to you, not right now. so instead, he took slow measured bites, each one followed by a quick sip of water and despite the heat, seungcheol kept eating, determined.

he really didn't know when he came like this - eating spicy tteokbokki even though he couldn't handle spicy food. but ever since he met you, he started doing things he would never do before. before he met you, his mornings were a blur of snoozed alarms and missed classes. but now, he woke up early with a smile, eager to get to campus. the reason? you. seeing you in class and catching your eyes across the lecture hall or seeing you on campus, that made every early morning worth it. and then there were the café shifts. he’d become a regular, only because it meant he could spend time with you. and now, eating spicy tteokbokki even though his mouth was on fire right now - all because he had a crush on you.

after eating, you both walk to the bus stop, the cool night air refreshing as you walk. "gosh i'm so full, that tteokbokki always hits the spot when i'm craving spicy food", you say.

as you reach the bus stop and the bus pulls up and he turns to you with a serious yet caring expression. “text me when you get home, okay?”

you laugh softly and give him a playful nudge. “so overprotective,” you tease, stepping onto the bus. you glance back and wave at him with a grin, your heart feeling warm from the simple, sweet gesture.

when you're waking back home, you happen to run into seungkwan, your friend whom you met seungcheol through. "seungkwan!", you call out and he lifts his head up, looking at you.

"yn! what are you doing here?", he asks. "i'm on my way home", you say. "i was just about to head somewhere for dinner, do you wanna join me?", he asks.

"oh, i actually just ate some tteokbokki not to long ago", you say and he nods. "the usual spot", he asks and you nod. "yeah, that's the best place. i took seungcheol there today, he had some too", you add.

seungkwan's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "seungcheol?" he repeats as if he needed to be sure he’d heard you right.

"yeah, i'm pretty stuffed actually, i ended up eating most of it, but seungcheol did eat some of it", you say and seungkwan seems to have a realisation and laughs softly to himself. "seungcheol ate the spicy tteokbokki?" he asks again, disbelief in his tone.

you nod puzzled. "yeah, why?"

a smirk spreads across seungkwan’s face. "wow, there’s something wrong with him. he can’t handle spicy food at all, and you’re telling me he willingly went to eat spicy tteokbokki with you?", seungkwan asks, baffled.

you furrow your brows, taken aback by this new information. "he can’t handle spicy food?"

seungkwan laughs softly, shaking his head in disbelief. "yep, he’s a bit of a wimp when it comes to spice. his stomach is definitely not going to forgive him for that, poor guy".

"well, i guess i’ll see you around. get home safe," seungkwan adds after a moment, offering you a wave before heading off.

you are left alone, you mind going over he new revelation about seungcheol. he couldn't handle spicy food? if that was true, why had he agreed to eat tteokbokki with you? why hadn’t he mentioned anything? why didn't he tell you?

the next week when you see seungcheol, he's his usual bright self, smiling when he sees you and following you around and once again, hanging out at the cafe with you. he's sitting right up at front at the first table near the counter, his eyes fixed on you as he watches you make more coffee orders. he looks at you with almost a lovesick gaze, like he can't get enough of you.

"seungcheol", you finally speak once the rush seems to slow down and you are winding down, your shift coming to an end.

"yes?", he says, standing up and leaning against the counter again, waiting for you to continue.

"wanna grab some tteokbokki again?", you ask. "sure", he agrees.

so that's how you're sitting at your usual tteokbokki spot again with seungcheol. the tteokbokki arrives and you both eat and seungcheol eats some too, though he doesn't show any signs that it is too spicy for him. but after what seungkwan said, you know better.

you both are walking back after eating and you glance at seungcheol. "are you okay?", you ask and he looks at you. "yeah, why?", he asks.

"wasn't the tteokbokki too spicy for you?", you ask again and he shakes his head, denying it. "no, it was really good, just right", he says. and that's when you can't take it anymore. you stop in your tracks, seungcheol stopping a few steps ahead of you before he turns around.

"why'd you stop?", he asks, coming closer. you look up at him and do the only thing that seems to come to your mind - you smack his arm, hard.

"OWW", he exclaims, clutching his arm as he looks at you, utterly confused and also worried. "what was that for?", he asks, rubbing his arm as he continues to look at you.

"that's for lying to me", you tell and seungcheol furrows his brows. "seungkwan told me everything, i know you can't handle spicy food, but yet you were eating that deathly spicy tteokbokki for me? you're such an idiot", you say, digging into your bag and pulling out a bottle of banana milk.

"here, this might help ease your stomach a bit", you add quietly, shoving it in his hands before you continue walking, leaving seungcheol behind. he looks down at the banana milk you had handed him, then back up at you. he catches up to you, falling in step next to you. he really doesn't know what to say.

"are you mad?", he asks softly and you glance at him. "i'm mad because you put yourself through that and you didn't even tell me. you could have just told me you can't eat spicy food", you say, your expression softening a bit.

"i just wanted to experience it with you", he says, hoping he could redeem himself. "i thought it would be worth it, just to see you smile", he says.

you look at him, and the sincerity in his eyes stirs something in your chest. there'sna moment of silence as you process his words and the evening seemed to pause, the hustle of the city fading into the background. seungcheol shifts nervously, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of his sleeve as he tried to think about how to navigate this tender moment. his eyes, usually so confident, now held a vulnerable gleam.

“i guess i was trying to use that as an excuse to spend more time with you” he begins softly and he pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor before he looks back up, meeting your eyes with a mixture of apprehension and sincerity.

“i don’t know if you’ve noticed, but i really like spending time with you. even in small ways, like this... it means a lot to me.”

he took a deep breath as if drawing strength from the air between you both before he speaks again. "i like you yn, i really like you", he confesses, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

your heart skips a beat at his confession and his cheeks are slightly flushed, and he looked at you with a hopeful, almost earnest expression, as if he was bracing himself for your reaction. as you took in his words, you could no longer deny the affection that had quietly grown within you for seungcheol. it would be a lie to say you weren't fond of him, you liked spending time with him too, liked his presence, liked him.

“i like you too,” you finally whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. the words felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders, and the relief in his expression was palpable. seungcheol's eyes brightened as he took in your response. there was something profoundly sweet about the way he looked at you, like he would do anything for you.

you watch as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, before breaking out into a full-blown smile. it was one of those smiles that seemed to light up the entire room, making his eyes sparkle as his lips curved upwards, and a deep dimple appeared on his cheek, a tiny but unmistakable mark of his joy and happiness.

"that's good", is all he finally says, looking at you. "good?", you question and he nods bashfully.

"yeah, because i'm sort of head over heels for you already. so if you like me back, then that's really good", he says, emphasising his words.

his words are so sincere and the way he says them makes your heart swell with warmth. the casual but gentle way he admitted his feelings, combined with his adorable smile and that charming dimple; it didn't make his confession feel heavy. it felt right.

“so you're really head over heels for me huh?” you tease gently.

"i wouldn’t have it any other way", he says giving you a wink and making you smile, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

as you both continue to stroll down the softly lit street, the evening air is cool and refreshing. you glance at seungcheol, who’s still holding a bottle of banana milk that you had given him, but now it’s slightly crumpled from being clutched tightly, and the sight of it makes you chuckle.

“drink it up soon,” you say, gesturing toward the bottle with a small nod. “your stomach must be in a bit of a war right now".

seungcheol quietly pokes the banana milk with the straw and sips on it. he bumps his shoulder against yours gently, his gaze full of affection when you turn to look at him.

"want a sip?", he offers but shake your head and you pull out another banana milk bottle from your bag instead, showing it to him. "i see you came prepared", he says.

"yeah, i had to neutralise the damage on your poor stomach", you joke and the sweet sound of his chuckle fills the air, his dimple deepening as he grins wide and looks at you.

god, how he was hopelessly in love with you.

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