#yeah i did write this instead of studying could you tell

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Half a brutal week of finals, your idea of short recovery is simple: horror games, dim lights, and your boyfriend Sol breathing in your ear through voice chat like he isn’t actively trying to ruin your focus. It was supposed to be just another cursed indie night — you, the monster, and a few well-aimed insults...

...until Sol’s reactions hijack the match entirely. One death screen, one whispered apology, and one desperate Discord call later, and suddenly you’re the one getting hunted — not by pixelated nightmares, but by your very real, very flushed, very wrecked boyfriend begging for your attention like his life depends on it. Turns out, surviving finals was the easy part.

…Surviving him? Yeah, good luck with that.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: soooo, on April 7th, while I was supposed to be studying for my psych and chem midterms, I stumbled across some [ art ] by @bonw0n — and yeah, I was this close to dropping everything to write this immediately. I behaved… mostly. Might’ve snuck a few "study breaks" to get some of it out. I’ve seen others write for this request too, so here’s my take — hope you love it, dearest.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: sol x gn! reader, smut, masturbation, voyeurism, mutual pining, voice kink, begging, desperate sol, one-sided voice chat (at first), tension so thick you could choke on it, accidentally turning him on, slight corruption kink if you squint, dirty thoughts two idiots falling harder than they realize, and sol is down bad and it’s so funny.

April is hell for college students. fucking tell me about...

Anyone who says otherwise has either dropped out, is lying, or majors in something unserious like something dumb—underwater basket weaving.

It’s exam season—a month-long bloodbath where coffee becomes a food group, sleep is theoretical, and your notes look like they were written by a madman mid-breakdown. You’ve been living in libraries, buried in color-coded flashcards and PDF textbooks you don’t even remember downloading. Your backpack weighs more than your will to live, and your playlist? Just sad lo-fi beats and the occasional mental breakdown.

But you did it.

You clawed your way through a few of your finals already, each one more cursed than the last. You turned in essays with hands that felt like claws, circled scantron bubbles like your life depended on it. And when the last “Submit” button was pressed today—you didn’t cry.

You almost did. But instead, you stared at your ceiling for twenty minutes contemplating existence… then decided to not kill yourself with another night of studying.

Tonight? You earned a break. And your poison of choice?

Well, overall, after exams, most people do one of three things:

Talk about the exam like it was a shared war trauma.

Vanish the second time’s up—those lucky bastards just evaporate into thin air.

Crash into bed, possibly start crying because of overthinking. Bonus points if you start crashing out.

Then there’s the rest—out at some crusty frat party, doing keg stands like their brain cells aren’t already on life support. Or sparking up until they’re spiritually ascending, eyes redder than the F they just got in psych stats. But not you.

Oh no, you? You’ve got taste. Elegance.

Horror Video Games.

And not the cute, fluffy kind either. You’re not out here playing some "build your dream town" simulator, collecting adorable animals with quirky little personalities who talk about their feelings. Nope, not you. You're not clicking through endless dialogue trees in a visual novel where every decision leads to either a hug or a heartbroken confession—though, let's be real, you’ve totally dipped your toes in those a couple of times. It's fine. No one's judging.

But nope, you're deep in the muck of horror.  The darker, the better. 

The more twisted, morally questionable, and "I probably shouldn't be playing this at 2 AM" the story is? That's the kind of game you're downloading like it’s got a bill overdue. You don’t need to sip on some overpriced vodka. You don’t need to hit the vape and pretend you’re too cool for life.

What you need is pure, unfiltered psychological trauma in 1080p.

Forget a chill evening—you want to feel like your mind might short-circuit at any second. You need the cozy glow of your LED lights bleeding across a desk littered with energy drinks and half-functioning headphones. You need your haunted little playlist of indie nightmares and "this game is banned in 12 countries" storylines.

This is your version of therapy. Replacing exam stress with the emotional damage of a pixelated ghost child whispering from behind a locked door.

There’s just something magical about sinking into your chair like a sentient blanket burrito, headset on, game booted up, and letting the real world dissolve into static.

Just you, the dark, and whatever fresh hell is waiting around the next virtual corner to emotionally ruin you. Again.

That was all you could think about during your god-awful fifty-minute-long lectures—well, that and how your professor’s voice sounded like someone chewing chalk while reading a textbook aloud. Especially on your longer days, where it felt like your brain was actively trying to escape through your ears or your eyes get heavy—despite sitting right up front of the class you deadass fall asleep in the middle of lecture…

Still, you powered through. Took notes. Faked interest. Dodged a group project like it owed you money. You even hit the library for a hot minute, pretended to be productive, and then finally dragged yourself back to your dorm like a half-dead NPC on a quest for salvation.

First stop? Food. 

You threw something questionable-but-edible into the microwave leftover take out you ordered yesterday and stared at it like it held all the answers to your suffering. Greasy, hot, probably taking a year off your life, but comforting in a ‘screw it, I survived today’ kind of way.

Then came homework. Ugh. 

You sat down, cracked open your laptop, and forced yourself to speed-run your assignments like you were defusing a bomb. Brain on autopilot. Tabs everywhere. Safari sounded like it was about to take off with your laptop. But you got it done—somehow. Whether your answers make sense? Always, make sure to check everything before you turn in, timestamp and all.

Then finally—finally—you hit the shower.

The hot water came down like it had a personal vendetta, absolutely obliterating your stress, your regrets, and possibly your skin barrier. You just stood there, letting it scald you like a rotisserie chicken, steam turning your bathroom into a sad little sauna with zero luxury but maximum existential crisis.

You hummed. You danced. You nearly slipped. You played that one song—the one you’ve been listening to on loop for days like it’s the soundtrack to your life’s fake documentary. You know, the one that starts off giving you chills and ends up giving you a migraine once your brain decides it’s time to ruin it. Classic move.

Then you stood there longer than you needed to, contemplating your next victim in the horror game queue. Real priorities.

Afterward showering, you did your usual post shower routine then you pulled on your favorite set—something soft and chill but definitely showing more skin than necessary. But who were you trying to impress? No one. You just liked how your blanket felt better that way. Priorities.

Besides, the whole point was to feel the warmth of your blanket better. You wrapped yourself in it, a cozy cocoon, and sank into your gamer chair, legs tucked beneath you, heart already settling into that familiar rhythm.

Your desk was a beautiful kind of chaos—lived-in, deliberate, curated for comfort and carnage. At the center of it all stood your mid-sized monitor, propped on a stack of mismatched textbooks like some sacred relic. It bathed the room in soft, moody colors, its screen already alive with the eerie flicker of the horror game’s menu.

Game boxes were stacked like grim little trophies on your shelves, each one a memory of a night spent half-screaming and half-laughing, usually with Sol on the other end. 

Twisted monster figurines stared blankly from their perches, arranged meticulously from “mildly unsettling” to “this one gave me a complex.” And the posters? Cult-classic psychological thrillers and cursed films—tattered at the edges, warped slightly by years of devotion. They stared back at you from the walls, their looming silhouettes shifting every time the screen flashed with static or movement.

Your gamer chair was a throne, worn-in just right—soft, broken in by years of sleepless nights and stress-fueled gaming binges. Draped across it was your oversized blanket, the one that swallowed you whole and made you feel like a cryptid rising from a cocoon. There was something sacred about that chair. It knew things. It had been with you through exam week breakdowns, existential dread marathons, and now, it was your command post.

Your controller was resting on the desk beside you, waiting.

The game was already launched, the lobby open, and your headset nestled comfortably over your ears. The built-in proximity voice chat was activated—just you and Sol in your own little bubble. The room was quiet but not silent. The faint buzz of the monitor, the gentle hum of your fan, the occasional creak of your chair when you shifted—it all became part of the ambiance.

And right on cue… Sol was already online.

His username—pumpkinlover00—pulsed softly in the game lobby like a heartbeat. Waiting. Always waiting. Same time, every night. Like a ritual. Like a promise.

There was no need for a message. No awkward small talk. No fumbling attempts at icebreakers. You two had long since passed that stage. This was muscle memory now—deadass unspoken rhythm built on laggy screams, ill-timed reloading, and the electric hum of shared adrenaline.

You reached for the controller, the soft click of your grip syncing perfectly with the moment his voice crackled through the in-game chat.

“Yo,” Sol murmured, his tone rough and low like he hadn’t spoken all day—maybe he hadn’t.

You grinned, stretching out in your throne of a chair and tugging the blanket tighter around you. “Yo yourself,” you said, thumbing through the loadout menu lazily. “By the way… when were you gonna tell me your gamertag was pumpkinlover00?”

There was a few seconds of silence.

Then, a sigh. The kind that screamed regret.

“It was a dare,” Sol said, as if that explained anything.

You snorted, already grinning as you adjusted in your seat, “Yeah, okay. But pumpkinlover00, though? Be honest. Did you also bake it a pie and whisper sweet nothings to your jack-o-lantern?”

“You keep talking and I will leave you mid-extraction,” he warned, dry as dust.

“Do it. I’ll tell everyone in the dorm that you made a shrine out of pumpkin guts and played Linkin Park while crying.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t just tell them,” you said, spinning your controller in hand with flair. “I’d make PowerPoint slides. Full color. Transitions. Soundtrack.”

He groaned, however you heard the little snort of laughter he tried to bury. Then his eyes landed on your own in-game tag floating proudly above your character’s head: DumpsterSnacc_.

“…You named yourself after trash food,” he muttered.

“Excuse me? I named myself after a rare and powerful snack born in the fires of poor life decisions and gas station cuisine. I am the forbidden flavor.”

“Sounds like you were found in the dumpster.”

“Bold talk from a guy whose username sounds like a seasonal candle from fucking grocery store.”

He laughed at that—low, sudden, genuine. “Alright, alright. Let’s see which one of us gets ghost-murdered first.”

The game flickered to life with its usual guttural startup scream, the kind that sounded like it had regrets and 3 unpaid debts. Your mission scrolled across the screen in grim text, paired with a deep voiceover that could narrate your funeral.

You selected your loadout: flashlight, flares and, of course, your unshakable sense of superiority.

“Alright, Pumpkin Spice,” you said, cracking your knuckles. “Ready to yank some haunted toaster ovens outta Satan’s basement?”

Sol chuckled. “Lead the way, Snaccrifice.”

The screen cut to black. And the horror began. Eveything loaded in with an unholy screech—part static, part radio distortion, part something that sounded like it came from a throat that shouldn’t exist.

You and Sol had just booted up the latest co-op indie horror hit: R.E.P.O. session. A physics-heavy, proximity-voice nightmare where you and a friend sneak into abandoned, rotting buildings to repossess cursed artifacts... all while being stalked by something that learns how you play.

Smart. Fast. Shapeshifting. The kind of monster that knew your patterns better than your therapist. Naturally, you both took it dead seriously. It was so serious, in fact, that your characters were dressed like absolute clowns. Literally.

You had picked grey skin with the bright neon outfit, oversized heart sunglasses, and an inflatable donut ring as a belt. Sol, not to be outdone, went full chaos: Green skin, a banana suit, and ski goggles, paired with bright orange gloves. His character model moved like a confused mall Santa.

“I swear to god,” he muttered through the proximity voice chat, distorted by digital reverb, “if we die looking like this, I’m logging off forever.”

“No you’re not. You're emotionally attached now,” you replied, confidently stomping your ridiculous pink boots toward the first hallway.

You’d already picked your roles.

You were the lead retriever—the brave idiot who runs in, grabs the cursed junk, and throws it back like it’s Black Friday at a pawn shop.

Sol? He was the cart dude—your ever-loyal partner who stayed behind just far enough to avoid immediate death, but close enough to catch whatever hell you flung his way.

He pushed the in-game collection cart behind you with janky, glitchy physics, the wheels squeaking like it was haunted by a grocery store demon. You turned around dramatically, forcing your character model to do a sudden 180.

Because the game used proximity-based voice chat, this also forced your character and Sol’s to make deep, intense eye contact. Eye contact that was only made worse by the exaggerated googly eyes stuck to your sunglasses. “Alright,” you said in your Serious Voice™, stepping forward with authority.  “Game plan.”

Sol’s character nodded, “Hit me.”

“We’re hitting the west wing first. Storage room. There's an artifact in there worth at least $1800 in-game bucks. Probably cursed. Probably breathing. I’ll go in, grab it, scream if I die. You stand back, push the cart, and if something runs at you, throw it my way and run.”

There was a pause.

“That’s… that’s your plan?” he asked.

“It’s a working plan.”

“It’s a dumbass plan.”

“It’s our dumbass plan.”

You both stared in silence again, your avatars breathing heavily, noses almost touching on screen. Sol finally sighed. “I hate that I trust you.”

“I hate that I’m the brains of this operation.” You smirked, turned on your flashlight, and marched forward.

The darkness swallowed you both whole. 

Behind you, the sound of a cart creaking along… and the soft jingle of a banana suit bouncing into the unknown.

You were just finishing loading a creepy little porcelain baby head into the cart—its painted eyes were scratched out and it laughed when you dropped it, so that was great—when the game's staticy radio pinged.

Incoming call.

Username: Hyugo_WasHere

You froze. So did Sol.

“No,” Sol said immediately, full volume, the word sharp enough to slice the tension. “Do not answer that.” Too late. You were already clicking accept.

The call connected with a loud, cheerful “Yooo! Pumpkin Boy! You in that haunted IKEA game?”

You grinned. “Hyugo, you tryna R.E.P.O some haunted junk with us?”

“Am I?” he said. “Am I ever. I’ve been watching Sol’s stream on Discord on mute for like ten minutes. Sol’s scream when the mannequin fell was a chef’s kiss.”

“It fell from the ceiling,” Sol hissed. “And it grabbed my shoulder. You would’ve screamed too.”

“I would’ve shot it,” Hyugo replied flatly.

Sol groaned, already defeated. “I swear to god, if he logs in—”

“He’s already at the party,” you said casually, watching the character list update.

A second later, a new player spawned in the safe zone, cyan color. And dressed like a goddamn menace. Hyugo’s avatar was in tight metallic leggings, a sparkly vest, and a jester hat with bells that jingled with every movement. His character moved with the swagger of someone who wanted to be shot first.

“Why are you like this?” Sol muttered.

“Stealth is a suggestion,” Hyugo declared, spinning in place.

“You’re going to get us murdered,” Sol added.

But you? You were already laughing. “Let’s go, Yessss, let’s go team. The ghost’s not ready.”

As the mission progressed, the building changed. Literally.

The layout shifted the deeper you went, doors that led to supply closets now opening into winding hallways, entire wings that didn’t exist in the beginning of the match suddenly sprouting up like tumors. The wallpaper pulsed. The ceilings dripped. Somewhere in the distance, something screamed like it had teeth where lungs should be.

You, Sol, and Hyugo pushed on. Slowly, methodically.

You led the charge, grabbing cursed relics and slapping them into the cart with casual violence. Sol stuck close, flashlight flickering, cart wheels creaking, muttering price estimates like a haunted appraiser.

Hyugo, despite all odds, actually helped. He wandered ahead with a scanner, pinging valuable loot and joking in proximity chat about how your footsteps sounded like wet noodles. “$1200 mirror up here,” Hyugo called once, voice crackling. “Probably possessed. Can I make it kiss itself?”

“No,” you and Sol said at the same time.

Still, you were doing fine. 

The cart was getting full. The radio said Extraction Ready in 3 Items. You were winning. So, you split up briefly—Sol stayed behind with the cart while you moved into a shadowy side room to grab what looked like a golden antique camera. It was twitching in your hand as you placed it in the cart with a clang.

That’s when Sol ran in. Not walked. Not jogged.

He sprinted in like something was directly behind him, eyes wide, headset audio crackling with his panicked breath. “Gun.”

You looked up. “What?”

“Gun!” he barked again.

“Dude, what—?”

“GUN!!” He was just repeating it now, flailing his arms like his in-game model was having a seizure. “BIG—GUN—HE HAS A GUN—”

“Who has a gun?!”

“THE BLIND GUY!!” Sol whisper-shouted. “HE ALMOST SHOT ME!”

You blinked, slowly crouching. “You mean the monster has a gun? Like an actual gun?”

“Yes! A fucking shotgun. Like He’s blind, but he’s got aimbot—he hears you, and just—” Sol mimed a gun recoil. “Pop. Dead. No warning. No build-up. Just excellent ass hearing and bullets.”

You snorted. “So what I’m hearing is: don’t make noise.”

Because the Blind Huntsman was coming.

The cart was half full, sitting between the overturned desks and office rubble. You had all scrambled to hide, moving fast as the soft, dragging footsteps of the Huntsman echoed from the hallway—his boots heavy, and his breath sharp, unfiltered, like someone breathing through shredded cloth.

You dove under a busted-ass metal table in the middle of the room, the thing barely standing on three legs and draped with old-ass hanging wires and paper folders that probably hadn’t been touched since the building caught its first haunting. The light was dim, pulsing like a dying heartbeat from some emergency light in the hall. Dust settled thick on the floor, the smell of old rot and burning metal clinging to the air.

Across from you, Hyugo’s stupid cyan avatar ducked under another table, practically hugging the wall like some horror-movie goblin. He looked so ridiculous in that clown-ass outfit y’all let him pick, and the way he moved just made it worse—jerky, crouched, twitchy, like someone who was definitely going to get caught first.

And then there was Sol. Goddamn Sol. Man had one job—hide. But instead of tucking under a desk like a normal person, he panicked and wedged himself behind the door. Behind. The. Door. Like the Huntsman wasn't gonna swing it open and yeet him into next week.

Earlier, before shit hit the fan, he had said all calm like, “I’m gonna scope the hallway next. The cart’s almost full. Let me just—wait, hold on—” His mic clicked. That dreaded click.

You knew something was wrong. So did Hyugo. 

Both of your avatars shifted ever so slightly—tense, alert.

Then Sol said it. “I’m getting a call.”

You silently screamed. Huygo’s shoulders went up like “no way this idiot’s serious.”

You hissed, “Sol, no—”

But he said it. Out loud. “Hello?”

The door didn’t creak open. It detonated—BOOM.

The sound rattled your headset so hard your mic peaked. Splinters flew, chunks of drywall exploded like confetti, and dust swallowed the whole room. The screen shook like a natural disaster, and you actually jumped IRL, heart hammering. Sol’s body got flung back like a ragdoll—slammed straight into a metal filing cabinet, bounced, and crumpled like a puppet with cut strings. It was the worst-looking hit you’d ever seen in-game. Just flopped there, half-folded behind some drawers.

And yet… somehow… the bastard lived.

He slowly sat up, stunned as hell. Twitchy, like he had just experienced every lifetime trauma at once. His mic crackled in all staticky, and he muttered: “…what the fuck.”

You were dying. Not in-game. In reality. Trying so hard not to lose it. Your whole body was trembling from how bad you wanted to laugh. You slapped both hands over your mouth and held them there like a makeshift muzzle, eyes wide, shoulders shaking.

You peeked out at Sol’s avatar.

He was looking dead at you.

And you felt it. The shame. The betrayal. The comedy. Whoever coded that eye tracking in this cursed game deserved an Oscar. Sol just sat there, traumatized, and stared at you like “you saw that, didn’t you?” And yeah. Yeah, you did. And it was the funniest shit you’d seen all week. Then Hyugo’s dumbass peeked out too.

Hyugo peeked out from his hiding spot—real slow, real cautious—and locked eyes with Sol first. Sol’s avatar, still slumped against the cabinet like a traumatized Victorian ghost, stared back. No words. Just… the kind of look that said "Don't you dare."

Then Hyugo turned and looked at you. Your own avatar, tucked safely under the rust-ridden desk, met his gaze with the same energy. A silent pact. Do not make a sound. Not a breath. Not a giggle. Not even a pixel twitch. 

And Hyugo? He was trying, man. He really was.

You could see it—his character model shook slightly, his shoulders giving that telltale twitch. Like he was holding in a sneeze. You knew the warning signs. The snort was coming. And then—“Pfft.”

CRACK.

The Blind Huntsman didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t pause. That cursed bastard snapped around the second he heard the slip. One single shot. Pinpoint. Surgical. Hyugo’s head went supernova. Cyan body parts everywhere. His avatar’s body slammed into the edge of the metal table with this sickening clunk, arms flailing once before collapsing in a stiff, horrifying ragdoll motion. His limbs twitched for half a second… then silence.

Just the head left. Rolling. 

Like the Huntsman said, “shut the hell up” with extreme prejudice.

Dead. Instant. No revive. No second chances.

The man got deleted like he owed the server money.

You were fully biting down on the sleeve of your hoodie now, hands over your face, trying not to scream with laughter. Shoulders shaking, breath hiccupping through your nose like a possessed hamster. Your eyes were stinging from how hard you were crying—silent tears of pure, uncut chaos.

Sol’s mic crackled again, dry as hell. No emotion. Just raw judgment. “…I hope you get haunted, bro. I really do.”

You couldn’t even answer. You were beyond words. The cart you were supposed to be pushing? Yeah. You just stared at it. Like maybe if you focused hard enough, you could will the mission to complete itself.

And the Huntsman? Still there.

Pacing slow. Heavy boots echoing through the static haze. He hadn’t forgotten. Not about Sol. Not about you. He was still walking. Still waiting for someone to slip up. And you could feel it—He was pissed.

You and Sol managed to slip out while the Huntsman circled the wreckage, still checking corners like a paranoid ex. You bolted left, Sol darted right—no words, just instinct and pure panic-fueled coordination. Both of you were half limping, half sliding into the hallway, ducking behind the rusted lockers and broken shelving until the Huntsman's heavy steps grew distant.

There was a long, quiet beat once you were safe.

Then—“…Did we just leave Hyugo’s decapitated ass in there?”

You stared at Sol. He stared back. Then you both turned to look at the cart you’d spent ten minutes loading, still sitting abandoned in the middle of the room next to Hyugo’s... head. 

“Motherf—”

The next ten minutes were pure stealth-game agony. Crawling back, avoiding cameras, sensors, trying not to alert any monster. You had to watch the Huntsman loop its route three times before Sol gave you the go-ahead. He moved to the body. You got the cart.

Teamwork, right?

Eventually, you loaded the final files, got the cart into the hallway, and hit the extraction point with barely a second to spare. The screen faded to black.

Round complete.

The next scene dumped the three of you back into the familiar starting truck. Same cramped space. Same dim, flickering fluorescent light humming overhead like an anxious fly. The air in the truck felt heavier than before, like it still remembered the chaos from the last round.

Sol stood in the corner, arms crossed, glaring at absolutely nothing with the weight of every bad decision Hyugo had ever made. You were perched on one of the benches, legs pulled up, hoodie sleeve still a bit damp from when you nearly choked on your own laughter earlier.

And then there was Hyugo.

His avatar spawned in silently, just standing there for a long second like he was processing his own digital funeral.

Then he exhaled like someone twice his age. “…damn, I got clapped.” 

That was all it took.

You started laughing again, that quiet, breathless kind that rocked your shoulders and made your stomach hurt. Hyugo cracked up beside you, doubling over, no shame at all.

“Who the hell answers a phone call in the middle of a mission, bro?” you snorted, elbowing his character like it could knock some sense into him.

Sol didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just slowly raised his arm and pointed at Hyugo like he was pressing a mental “report player” button.

“That's what your ass get,” he said flatly. “Prank-calling me mid-hide with your creepy-ass burner number? You deserved that karma in 4K, dumbass.”

Moving on, the next map flickered into existence as the truck doors groaned open. Bright, sterile white lights cut through the foggy interior, revealing a massive abandoned science lab, all clean metal, reinforced glass, and flickering emergency signs that suggested terrible things had happened here. The air was thick with strange green mist hissing from the vents, swirling in ghostly patterns around overturned desks and shattered containment pods.

Hyugo was still sprawled on the floor from his latest brush with death, groaning dramatically. You and Sol stepped over him like he was part of the scenery.

"Science lab, huh?" you muttered, adjusting your gear.

"Great," Sol sighed. "Haunted test tubes. Love that."

Hyugo finally pushed himself up, grinning like he hadn’t just been yeeted toward acid twice in the last five minutes. “Oh, y’all are gonna love this.”

He opened his inventory with a smug flourish, the soft chime echoing like a game show reveal. And there it was:

The Hourglass.

Not just rare—stupid rare. Glowing in vibrant shades of purple and pink, pulsing slightly like it had its heartbeat. The mist around your group even seemed to freeze for a second, as if reality itself was like, wait, what.

You and Sol both just stared. At it. At Hyugo. Then, back at the Hourglass, like you were waiting for a hidden camera reveal.

“You found that?” you asked, taking a cautious step forward.

“Yup,” Hyugo said proudly, hands on his hips. “Just vibing in the vents. Found it near a corpse. Thought it was lore or something.”

Sol blinked like a tired professor dealing with the world’s most dramatic intern. “Hyugo.”

“Yeah?”

Then it happened.

Hyugo’s model jerked slightly, like a status effect triggered, and when his mic crackled back to life, he was no longer speaking like Hyugo. No. Now, he was channeling something deeper. Something ancient. Something theatrical.

He straightened up with cartoonish grandeur and spoke in the slow, wise tone of a final boss monologue. “Sunny,” he began—Sol’s cursed nickname—“I have acquired… the capsule.”

You blinked. “The what?”

“The capsules. Of time. The very essence of fate distilled into radiant fragments. This—” he gestured dramatically to the Hourglass, “—is our salvation. Our burden. Our destiny.”

Sol deadpanned. “…You’ve been holding it for three seconds.”

Hyugo ignored him. Spun on his heel with dramatic flair. “We are going to win this game. For the realm. For the vent corpses that came before us.”

You crossed your arms. “Hyugo—”

“If it means I have to sacrifice my life…” Hyugo continued, raising one hand to the digital ceiling like a knight accepting a divine quest, “so be it. Let my KD be shattered. My dignity obliterated. My outfit scuffed—”

Sol raised his weapon slightly. “Don’t tempt me.”

Hyugo gasped. “You would turn on me now, Sunny? After all we’ve been through? After I carried you through that cursed stairwell map with the glitchy ass doors? Have you no heart?”

You tried not to laugh. Failed.

“Onward, you two!” Hyugo declared suddenly, pointing dramatically at the truck doors as they creaked open to reveal the misty lab ahead. “We must go! For glory! For loot! For Sunny’s tragic lack of skills!”

Sol muttered, “I have skills—”

“SILENCE! The prophecy unfolds!”

And with that, Hyugo bolted forward, cape fluttering—he didn’t have one, but you felt like he did—into the ominous green mist, yelling something incoherent about “ether trails” and “data packets of destiny.”

You glanced at Sol. Sol glanced at you.

“I’m not reviving him when he gets face-checked by a mimic chest,” Sol said, voice flat as asphalt.

You tilted your head, smirking. “You know we’re following him anyway.”

“…Yeah. I hate that,” he muttered, already moving.

Without a second of hesitation, Sol opened his inventory with the resigned grace of someone prepping for a ritual he swore he wouldn’t take part in. One swift flick later, he pulled out the gun—the gun. Sleek, matte black, gold trim. The kind of in-game weapon that costs 7,000 currency, your soul, and your firstborn. Came with a single magazine and a kill count higher than most player stats.

Your eyes widened. “Sol—”

Before you could even finish your sentence—BANG. 

Hyugo collapsed like a folding chair. A single headshot. Dead. Instant. No fanfare. His body rag-dolled across the floor and slammed into the lab wall with a sad little clunk, the Hourglass clattering beside him like a dropped Fabergé egg. “…WHAT THE HELL?!” Hyugo’s mic exploded back to life as his model twitched on the floor.

You exhaled. “What the helly?”

Hyugo groaned. “What the helly??”

“What the helleante?” “What the helleon musk?” “What the helleberry pie?”

“What the Hellebron James?” “What the Helly Rae Jepsen?” 

“Guys.” Sol’s voice cut in, calm but worn, like a man hanging by a single thread of patience. “Shut the fuck up.”

He walked over, still holding that overkill gun in one hand like it weighed nothing, then, without missing a beat, used the grab function to hoist Hyugo’s limp avatar off the ground. His digital arms dangled, legs flopping like a sack of potatoes in skinny jeans. “Bro—BRO,” Hyugo shrieked, squirming. “Put me down! What are you doing?! SOL—Sol stop—STOP—”

You trailed after them, watching like an exhausted parent witnessing their two chaotic ass sons take very different approaches to conflict resolution. 

“Sol. Come on.”

Sol’s avatar stopped just at the edge of the glowing, toxic pit bubbling in the middle of the containment zone. The green light cast eerie shadows across the lab walls. He slowly turned his character model, head cocked toward you.

One word. “Justice.”

“BRO I’LL BUY YOU A SKIN,” Hyugo screamed. “A WHOLE PACK! LIMITED EDITION! I’LL PAY FOR IT WITH MY OWN CURRENCY—”

Sol took a step closer to the pit. Paused.

Hyugo whimpered. “Please don’t Wario-yeet me into acid, I’m useful…”

Another step. The acid hissed below, eager. Hungry.

You raised a hand like a referee about to blow the whistle. “Sol. We do need him to activate the switch in the next room. You remember the puzzle door.”

Sol sighed, heavy and reluctant. “I hate teamwork.”

Hyugo, still dangling: “I LOVE teamwork.”

After a long moment, Sol dropped him. Hyugo screamed like a dying fax machine as his avatar plummeted toward the acid below—arms flailing, mic peaking—until you lunged. Frame-perfect grab. Caught him by the hoodie just before he splashed into the bubbling green abyss. His scream cut off immediately. For a second, the whole game seemed to lag, his body glitching mid-air as you held him up like some divine intervention.

Silence. Then: “—Y-you saved me,” Hyugo breathed.

You dropped him. He hit the floor with a loud thunk.

"Don't thank me," you muttered, brushing off your sleeves. "I just didn't wanna hear that scream again."

Hyugo groaned, rolling onto his side. "You two are bullies."

Sol casually reloaded his gun. “You’re welcome for the content.”

Hyugo sat up, rubbing his digital head like he could still feel the gunshot. “I’m getting a new squad.”

"You say that every round," you smirked, already scanning the lab. Beyond the glowing acid pit, the corridors stretched into eerie, sterile hallways, the green mist rolling between shattered glass panels. 

Oh, yeah—and the rest of the game? Oh, it completely fell apart. What started as a semi-coordinated dungeon crawl quickly devolved into Hyugo’s personal chaos playground.

You were trying to play with some semblance of focus. Sol was attempting to maintain professionalism, a beacon of composure in the chaos. And then there was Hyugo, who effortlessly turned the entire game from a tense "sci-fi horror dungeon crawl" to a wild, unhinged improv comedy show—complete with light war crimes.

He was a menace. No—he was the menace. A digital gremlin incarnate. One moment, you’re creeping down a shadowy lab corridor, the eerie hum of the ambient music seeping into your headphones, the air thick with tension. You’re on edge, weapons ready, your mind focused on the mission at hand… and then—BOOM.

Big Sean’s “I Don’t F*ck With You” intro explodes through team chat, its intro blaring like a furious soundboard god had just unleashed chaos upon you. You whip around the corner just in time to see Hyugo, arms flailing, sprinting full speed through a doorway, the music pounding in the background. Behind him? A grotesque, duck-shaped miniboss, honking like a malfunctioning bike horn and spewing acid everywhere.

You couldn’t help it. 

You were dying from laughter, struggling to even aim properly, your screen a blur from tears of hilarity.

Sol, on the other hand?

“TURN IT OFF,” he growled, weapon drawn, hands visibly shaking with frustration. His usual calm demeanor? Gone.

Hyugo didn’t even flinch. “I WOULD RATHER DIE!”Instead, he leapt. A full-on swan dive off a second-story catwalk, arms spread wide in dramatic, angelic fashion, while the music still blared through the speakers. His avatar ragdoling gracefully down to the depths below, and that ridiculous duck miniboss followed right after.

You? Hysterical. Barely holding it together.

Sol? “I hope it eats him.”

The only thing more ridiculous than Hyugo's antics was the fact that you all still couldn't stop.

The next round? It was a complete disaster.

You were trying to maintain some semblance of control, moving stealthily through a high-alert containment zone. Alarms blared in your ears, the shrill sound slicing through your focus. Enemies were everywhere, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. Sol was on point, carefully lining up a perfect shot on a sniper perched high in the rafters. It was the kind of moment that made you feel like you were finally in control.

And then, suddenly—LOUD BABY CRYING.

The mic exploded with static, the shrieks vibrating through your headset. You froze, your camera whipping around to see what the hell was going on. There, crouched behind Sol, was Hyugo.

And he wasn’t even doing anything. He was just vibing. No weapons, no tactics. Just existing, silently in the corner. 

The worst part?

Every time you looked directly at him, he shot off like a rogue NPC with a death wish. His character zigzagged around the hallway, darting every which way, a trail of baby wails following him like an ominous echo through the halls. It felt like you were being haunted by the ghost of daycare past, each screeching cry more absurd than the last.

Sol's jaw was clenched so hard you could practically hear his teeth grinding together. He spun on you, his frustration practically palpable. “I’m this close to uninstalling.”

You shrugged, not even bothering to hide your grin. “Let him live. He’s the only one distracting the minibosses.”

Sol’s glare could’ve burned a hole through steel. “He’s distracting me.”

Of course, things didn’t get better.

You were one artifact away from completing the mission. 

Going back for the legendary Hourglass. 

A cursed, time-warping relic that everyone knew was crucial to the final steps. You had made it this far, fighting tooth and nail to stay alive, to push forward. The whole mission had come down to this one piece.

Sol exhaled slowly, trying to keep it together. “Alright. Where’s the Hourglass?”

Before you could even answer, Hyugo shot up from the corner where he’d been hiding, far too excited. “Ooh! I’ll get it!”

You and Sol both said it in unison. “NO.”

You pointed at him, voice firm. “I’ll get it.” 

You sprinted off, cursing under your breath as you dashed through the corridor, praying to every god in existence that Hyugo wouldn't somehow decide to follow you and make the situation even worse. The last thing you needed was him trailing behind you like a damn toddler in a toy store, causing chaos at every corner.

When you finally returned, panting, gripping the eerie-looking relic in your hands, you were met with a sight that made your blood boil: Hyugo, standing atop a console, looking absolutely delightful in that damn ugly seasonal cosmetic hat.

He spun around like he was auditioning for a low-budget action movie, and before you could even blink, he started blasting the most obnoxious clapping sound effect. His character mimicked a ridiculously exaggerated movement, like he was giving backshots to Sol's and yours.

That was it. You were done.

No more laughter. No more tolerance for his nonsense. The mission was right there, within reach, and yet here he was, ruining everything with his antics.

You slammed your hand down on your mic key. “Hyugo, what the hell is wrong with you?” you growled, voice dripping with annoyance. “You can’t be serious. Every time we get anywhere, you turn this game into a circus. We’re not here to play dress-up and throw sound effects around. This isn’t a comedy show!”

You glared at him through the screen, fury bubbling up. “I’ve been trying to finish this mission for hours, and all you’ve done is run around like a damn gremlin, causing chaos and wasting everyone’s time! I swear to god, if you don’t knock it off—”

Hyugo, of course, just stood there, you knew for a fact that he’s grinning like an idiot behind his fuck ass character. The last shred of your patience snapped. You looked at Sol’s character on the screen, knowing he was feeling the exact same way. Sol’s normally calm demeanor was clearly strained, but he wasn’t saying a word.

“Hyugo,” you seethed, “I’m done. Just—get out. If you can’t take this seriously, then don’t waste our time. You’re a walking distraction and a complete menace. Maybe if you stopped playing clown, you’d actually be useful for once.”

Without waiting for any kind of response, you spun around in your seat, fingers slamming against the buttons in a blur of frustration. The shot rang out, and with a satisfying pop, Hyugo's avatar’s head crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

There was a long, tense silence. You were still fuming, but you didn’t care anymore. Hyugo was out of your hair. The relic was in your hands. The mission was finally going to be over.

Or so you thought.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice crackled through the mic, calm and far too chipper. "Alright, I’m logging off for the night," Hyugo announced, as if he hadn't just spent the last hour turning the game into a goddamn circus. "I’m gonna play something else. This is... yeah, this is too much for me."

You blinked, taken aback. He was serious? After everything? You were half-expecting him to jump back in and say, "Just kidding!" or somehow start another round of chaotic shenanigans. But no. This time, he wasn’t even bothering to tease Sol. No baby were crying sound effects, no loud meme noises blaring through the speakers, no swan dives off catwalks. 

You let out a long sigh as the weight of the chaos slowly lifted from your shoulders, but just when you thought you could finally call it a night, Sol shot you a look that could only be described as a challenge.

“Don’t tell me you're actually done,” he said, a smirk creeping into his voice. “Come on, it’s late, but we’re so close. You’ve gotta finish the level with me. I dare you.”

You raised an eyebrow. You were exhausted, physically and mentally. 

The idea of continuing felt like a cruel joke, but you knew one thing: Sol wasn’t backing down, and he had a way of wearing you down with that competitive streak of his. "Fine," you muttered, giving in. "But if I regret this in the morning, I’m blaming you."

Sol gave you a look through the camera—equal parts smug and tired triumph—as you queued up a new level, eyes bleary but still gleaming with challenge.

“You sure?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, stretching like a smug cat. “This one’s deep in the DLC vault. Real freakshow hours.”

You smirked, fingers already flying across the controller. “Bring it on, coward.”

What loaded next was an obscure, borderline-broken DLC map—one of those buggy, cursed messes made by a dev who clearly needed therapy and a hug. Everything about it was off: the lighting was dim and sickly, the corridors were way too narrow, and worst of all, voice proximity was cranked up to hell. It didn’t just pick up speech. It picked up breathing.

Neither of you noticed it right away—until Sol whispered a dumb joke and the monster twitched on the screen.

“Oh hell no,” he muttered, sitting up straighter. “This thing reacts to voice pitch?”

You hummed, too tired to even laugh properly. “Mmhm. Screeches at loud noises, tracks whispers like a bloodhound.”

“Great,” he deadpanned. “So basically, I die if I sneeze.”

You forged ahead anyway, navigating through the maze of twisted hallways and creaky floorboards. The monster’s guttural growls kept brushing up against your nerves, but your exhaustion forced you into a kind of laser-focused calm. Your voice dropped lower, slower, softer—soothing, unintentional, intimate.

“Go left,” you murmured. “No—wait... not yet... okay, now. Stay close to the wall.”

There was silence on Sol’s end. Long, uncomfortable silence.

“Why are you... whispering like that?” he asked, voice a little thinner now.

You didn’t even look up. “Monster hears pitch. Screams attract it. I’m trying to not to get us murdered.”

“Sure,” he said, and then quieter, “It’s just... wow. Okay.”

Another corridor, another wave of tension. You were crouched behind a rusted shelf, heart thumping, flashlight flickering like it had stage fright, as the game’s monster—this twitchy, multi-limbed freak that sprinted at sound—skulked somewhere nearby. 

You leaned into your mic, voice steady, low, breath soft. “Hold your position… grab the crowbar… don’t move… until I say so.” Smooth. Silky. Calculated.

And then—“Sol?” Nothing.

“Sol?” Still nothing.

You peeked down the hallway just in time to see Sol’s in-game avatar standing completely still like some tragic mannequin left in a post-apocalyptic mall. Just… chilling. No movement, no reaction—man really just decided to embrace the void mid-mission. Then, out of the shadows, the monster shrieked like a dying lawnmower and launched itself at him.

“SOL—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

You screamed his name like he’d walked into oncoming traffic. His character didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, stoic as hell, right until the monster decapitated him with enough force to send his character’s head flying halfway across the screen like it owed him money. 

“Oh my god—SOL, YOU DIED, YOUR HEAD—YOUR FUCKING HEAD WENT INTO THE SKY.”

Still no response. 

Just the sound of the monster doing a victory screech and your own mic picking up your frantic panting as you became the hunted next. Now it was your turn to run. You booked it, chart in hand, tripping over half-looted shelves and whispering panicked commands to no one. You were not about to leave those high-priced relic items behind. No way. That shit was worth more than your character’s life, and you were committed.

You could feel the vibration through your controller ramping up—like it was trying to match your pulse. The sound of claws scraping concrete got closer. Louder. 

Then—“Nnnh…” A noise. Quiet. Way too quiet. But there.

You froze mid-run. “Sol?” No answer.

“…Are you—are you for real jacking off right now?!”

A pause. Then, barely audible through your headset, a low mumble:

“Keep talking… please,”

“I AM IN A GAME, YOU SICK LITTLE FREAK! THERE IS A DEMON CENTIPEDE THING TWO FEET BEHIND ME—I AM FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE—AND YOU’RE TRYNA BUST?!” 

The controller was still buzzing in your hands like it had a personal vendetta. Maybe it was the in-game monster. Maybe it was your own nerves. Or maybe—just maybe—it was Sol, breathing way too hard in your headset and dragging your sanity down with him.

And the worst part? It was funny. Because you'd forgotten—actually forgotten—you were even dating him. You were so used to Sol being somewhat mean, clingy, pouty, and generally up in your business that his little habits no longer register. Until now. Until this very cursed match. Because this? 

This was a whole other level.

Just when you rounded the next corner—BAM. The monster dropped from the ceiling vents like it had a grudge, tackled your character, and splattered your health bar in one hit. Your screen flashed a dramatic, unforgiving red:

YOU DIED.

You blinked at the screen. Jaw slack. Controller limp in your hands.

“…Are you kidding me?” you said, voice cracking. “I just got jump-scared to death because you decided to moan in my ear like we’re in some low-budget audio drama.”

Nothing. Just silence. Then, his mic crackled.

There was rustling, a shift, the soft sound of movement, and then Sol exhaled. Shaky. Like he’d just run a marathon—or committed a sin.

“I-I’m sorry,” he muttered, breathless and too soft for comfort. “I couldn’t help it. Your voice… it was driving me crazy.”

Your face went hot. Neck, ears, everything. You curled your toes on instinct. That stupid familiar twist of heat hit your stomach before you could even think to shut him up.

“Sol,” you hissed, but it came out more like a whimper.

“I—can we switch to Discord?” he asked suddenly, almost desperate. “Please, please, Pumpkin. Just for a sec. I need you to see what you’re doing to me.” He begged, using said nickname.

Your heart stuttered. 

You weren’t proud of it, but the way he begged—soft, needy, breath catching like he was barely holding it together—yeah.

You were a little turned on.

Fine. Maybe more than a little.

You stared at the screen, still frozen on your defeat, the red YOU DIED taunting you like it knew exactly why. The headset felt suddenly too hot on your ears, like it was echoing back his voice over and over again. Your fingers flexed around the controller like it owed you an explanation.

“Sol, we’re in the middle of a game,” you muttered, but the protest was flimsy, half-hearted at best. Because let’s be real, your fingers were already flying to open Discord with the kind of speed that betrayed just how curious you really were. How desperate, aww.

“Then quit it.” His voice was a rough whisper, thick like honey poured over gravel, dark and syrupy-sweet. “Quit the game. I don’t give a damn if it’s ranked, or cursed, or if the final boss was personally designed by the devil anymore. I just need—”

A low, broken groan tore from his throat, vibrating through the call and sending an electric shiver straight down your spine.

“—need you to look at me.”

And when the video call connected?

God. You looked. And you immediately regretted it.

The screen flickered to life, and there he was—Sol, wrecked and breathless, like he’d been fighting for control and lost. His black and neon-green hair was a disheveled mess, sweat-damp strands clinging to his forehead. His shirt was rucked up past his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his abdomen, the tantalizing dip of his V-line—like he’d gotten impatient, like he’d been touching himself just thinking about you—well, of course, all he thinks about is you after all.

Bruises littered his skin, dark and possessive, marking him up in a way that only made him look wilder, more feral. His red-orange eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the color, glassy with desperation. His hands trembled where they braced against his desk, mic discarded like even that was too much to hold onto.

“You did this,” he accused, voice raw, wrecked. A confession. A prayer.

Your throat went dry. Heat flooded your veins, crawling up your neck, your cheeks, your ears—everywhere. You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to sting, just to keep yourself from whimpering.

“You’re insane,” you breathed.

Sol nodded, feverish, eager. “For you? Every damn second.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out shaky, breathless. “We were just gaming—”

“No.” His voice dropped, sharp and dangerous. “You were gaming. I was trying not to lose my goddamn mind listening to you—your threats, your fucking voice, whispering curses like you were trying to ruin me.”

“I was not!” you protested, weak, already squirming. 

“‘I’m gonna shove this bat so far up your undead ass, you’ll respawn with it sticking out your mouth,’” he quoted, verbatim, voice dripping with accusation. His gaze burned into you, unwavering. “Tell me that wasn’t filthy. Tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.”

You swallowed hard. “Okay,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe that one was a little hot.”

His grin was wicked, triumphant, as he leaned closer to the screen, like he could taste your surrender. “So,” he murmured, voice dipping into something dark, hungry, “still think we’re finishing that match?”

Your cursor hovered over “Rejoin Game.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate click, you closed the tab.

“…I hope that monster knows it died for a very good cause.”

Your breath hitched as Sol leaned back, his fingers hooking under the hem of his shirt with a slow, deliberate smirk. "You wanna see more?" he taunted, voice dripping with sinful amusement. "Then say it."

Your lips parted, heat coiling low in your stomach as you narrowed your eyes. "Take it off. Now."

A sharp, breathy laugh escaped him as he obeyed, dragging the fabric up and over his head in one smooth motion. His chest was perfectly—toned, flushed, his pierced nipples glinting under the dim light of his room.

You hadn’t noticed before, but each one was adorned with a small silver med-sized bars, the metal catching the light as his breathing quickened. "Fuck," you muttered, biting your lip. “Aww, you’ve been hiding these from me?"

Sol’s grin was all teeth. "Not hiding. Just waiting for you to ask."

Your gaze raked over him, lingering on the way his stomach tensed as he shifted, his fingers toying with the waistband of his pants. "And what else are you hiding, huh?" you challenged, voice dropping into something darker. 

"You gonna show me everything, or do I have to make you?"

A shudder ran through him at the command, his pupils blown wide. "Fuck—" His fingers trembled as he undid the button, the zipper sliding down with a hiss that sent a jolt straight to your core.

And then—"Holy shit."

Your eyes locked onto the glint of metal there, nestled along the length of his cock, a delicate Frenum piercing tracing from the tip down to the flushed, aching pink of him. He was big, thick, and heavy in his hand as he gave himself a slow stroke, the silver bead catching the light obscenely.

"You—" Your voice cracked. "You’ve had this the whole time?"

Sol’s breath came in ragged bursts, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk. "Yeah," he admitted, voice wrecked. "Thought you’d—ah—like it."

You did. God, you did.

“Play with yourself,” you ordered, rather quickly—voice dripping with dark command, leaving no room for hesitation. “Let me see how pathetic you look when you’re desperate for me.”

A sharp, wounded whine tore from Sol’s throat, but his hand obeyed instantly, sliding down his stomach to wrap around his cock—already hard, already dripping, the metal of his Frenum piercing glinting under the dim light. His fingers moved in slow, torturous drags, his breath hitching as he squeezed just the way he knew you liked to watch.

“Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerked, chasing his own touch, his thighs trembling. “Tell me—” he gasped, voice wrecked, “tell me how I look.”

You leaned closer to the screen, lips curling into a cruel smirk as you drank in the sight of him—his black and green hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead, his pierced nipples pebbled tight under your gaze, his abs flexing with every ragged breath.

“Like a whore,” you purred, low and filthy. “All these piercings, all these pretty little decorations—just for me to look at, huh? You like showing off? Like knowing I’m staring at your cock and thinking about how mine it is?”

Sol moaned, high and broken, his free hand flying up to pinch and twist at his nipple, the metal barbell catching the light. His back arched off the bed, his whole body shuddering. “Yours,” he gasped, voice cracking. “Always—fuck—always yours.”

You watched, transfixed, as his fingers moved faster, his strokes turning messy, needy. His other hand kept playing with his nipple, tugging at the piercing just to hear himself whimper, just to feel something sharper.

And God, you were losing it too.

Your thighs pressed together, trying to relieve the ache building between them, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Not when you could see the way his cock twitched in his grip, the way his stomach muscles clenched as he got closer. Not when you could hear every broken gasp, every bitten-off moan.

Your mind raced with want—with the desperate, clawing need to have him here, in your room, on your bed, begging for you to climb into his lap and ride him until neither of you could think. 

You imagined his rough, massive hands dragging down your body, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he whined into your ear. You could almost feel the heat of his skin under your palms, the way his muscles would tense as you traced every scar, every bruise, every inch of him.

And his piercings—fuck. 

You wanted to lick them, to bite down just hard enough to make him gasp, to suck his nipples until they were red and swollen. You wanted to taste every part of him, to sink onto his cock and feel that Frenum piercing drag inside you, hitting every perfect spot until you were both sobbing.

But most of all?

You wanted to see those eyes—those obsessive, red-orange eyes—locked onto yours as he came undone beneath you, whispering your name like a prayer.

"Be careful with yourself, pretty boy," you murmured into the mic, voice dripping with false sweetness—but the tremor in your breath gave you away. Your fingers slid between your thighs, slow, teasing, just enough to make your hips twitch. "Wouldn’t want you to break before I’m done with you."

"Sol," you breathed, voice dripping with sin as your fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your own skin—just watching the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched when you bit your lip. "You have no idea how badly I want to touch you right now."

His throat bobbed, his grip tightening around his cock like he was barely holding on. "Fuck—tell me," he begged, voice already wrecked.

You tilted your head, letting him see the hunger in your eyes—the way you ached for him. "I’d start with your face," you murmured, dragging your fingertips down your neck, mimicking the path you’d take on him. "Kissing you so deep you forget how to breathe. Then your neck—" 

Your teeth grazed your lower lip, just imagining the way he’d shudder. "Biting you just how you like it. Gentle? Or hard enough to make you whimper?"

Sol’s hips jerked, a broken sound escaping. "Hard—fuck, please—"

You smirked, dragging your nails down your chest, watching his gaze follow every movement. "Then I’d take my time with these," you purred, rubbing your own nipple just to watch him lose it. "Your piercings—god, I’ve thought about them so much. The way they’d feel against my lips, cold metal and hot skin. I’d tease you until you were begging me to move lower."

His breath came in ragged pants, his hand moving faster, desperate. "Lower—where—?"

You let out a slow, sinful laugh. "Guess." 

Your fingers trailed down your stomach, lower, lower, until his eyes burned with recognition. "Oh, Sol," you sighed, voice thick with want. "You liar, such a bad boy. All this time, you never told me about this." 

You licked your lips, imagining the weight of him, the way that frenum piercing would feel pressing against your tongue. "I’d take my time tasting you, savoring every inch—until you were shaking, until you couldn’t stand it."

Sol’s back arched, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk like he was about to snap. "You—you knew—?"

‘No," you admitted, your own fingers slipping between your thighs, moaning softly at the contact. "But I dreamed about it. About how it’d feel when you fucked my throat, when that little metal bar hit the back of my tongue. You’d try so hard to be good, wouldn’t you? But I’d make you lose control. Make you push deeper, until I was choking on you—until you came so hard you screamed."

He let out a strangled groan, his thighs trembling. "Or—fuck—or you could ride me," he gasped, his voice raw with need. "Take what you want, use me—‘

You cut him off, “Fuck—fuck—fuck—“ 

Your breath hitched as you rocked against your own fingers, Sol’s blown-out, filthy gaze locked onto you through the screen. He was watching—watching every twitch of your thighs, every shuddering gasp, every slick, desperate stroke of your fingers. And God, the way his lips parted, his chest heaving, his cock twitching against his stomach—like he was made for this. For you.

"That’s it, pumpkin," Sol groaned, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into his own thighs as he fought not to touch himself yet. "Look at you—fuck—look at you, taking yourself apart just ‘cause I’m watching."

You whimpered, arching off your gamer chair, your free hand fisting the blanket. "S-Sol—"

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice rough, needy. "Tell me what you’ve been thinking about. What you dream about when you’re pretending to focus on your goddamn finals."

Your hips stuttered. Fuck.

"Y-You—" you gasped, your mind spinning with him—Sol, yours, always yours, forever yours—jumping on him, riding him, your mouth around your cock as you ordered him to take it and be still until he was sobbing your name. Or maybe him pounding into you—vice versa if you have to be honest, his thick cock splitting you open, filling you up so good, so perfect, slow and deep one second, then brutal the next, fucking you senseless until neither of you could think—

"Fuck, Sol—!" You bit your lip hard, your thighs trembling. "I—I want you—inside—want you to fucking ruin me—"

A sharp, punched-out moan tore from Sol’s throat, his hand finally—finally—wrapping around his cock, stroking hard, fast, like he couldn’t hold back anymore. "Yeah? Where?" he growled, his hips jerking up into his fist. 

"Tell me exactly where you want me, pumpkin—"

"E-Everywhere—" you whined, your fingers working faster, your body burning. "My mouth—my hole—fuck, just—fill me up, Sol, please—"

"Fuck—" His head tipped back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

“J-just you—fuck, you cumming so deep inside me—gonna make me drip with it—" You moaned, loud and shameless, your climax crashing into you like a fucking tsunami—and just as you came, shaking, screwing your eyes shut, you heard Sol break.

Sol’s breath hitched, his rhythm faltering. "I’m—I’m close—"

You locked eyes with him, your own pleasure coiling tight, unbearable. "Then come," you demanded, your voice a dark, delicious command. 

"Come for me, Sol. Let me hear how much you need this."

And when he did—when his whole body shook, when his voice broke into a desperate, pleading cry—"Ngh—pumpkin.”

His back arched off his chair, his cum flying—literally hitting his camera with a wet splat, his cock pulsing in his hand as he kept stroking, milking himself through it, his moans filthy, pathetic, perfect.

"Shit—look what you did—" he panted, his voice wrecked, his cum streaked across the screen like some kind of obscene trophy. "Fuckin’—everywhere—"

You laughed, breathless, your body still buzzing. "Mmm… should’ve been inside me instead."

Sol’s eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Next time," he promised, his voice low, dangerous, "I’ll make sure none of it goes to waste."

Then, with a smirk that sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to your core, he leaned closer to the camera—and licked a stripe right through his own mess.

"Fuck," you breathed.

Sol just grinned, his lips glistening. "Better than video games?"

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. "Shut up."

He laughed—warm, bright, yours—and you couldn’t help but smile.

The screen between you flickered with the remnants of what just happened—Sol’s chest still heaving, his lips parted, his skin flushed down to his collarbones. You both just breathed for a second, the air thick with satisfaction, the kind of exhaustion that curled warm in your stomach.

“Fuck,” Sol muttered, voice rough, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re gonna have to clean this shit up.”

You snorted, stretching lazily, your muscles loose and tingling. “Your camera’s never gonna recover.”

He glanced at the mess streaked across his lens and groaned, but there was a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Worth it.”

You both took a second to recover—him wiping his screen with the hem of his shirt, you grabbing tissues to clean yourself up—moving in comfortable silence, the kind that only came when words weren’t necessary. When the heat between you spoke louder than anything else.

Then, softer: “Exams fucking suck,” you sighed, flopping back onto your chair, legs still trembling slightly.

Sol huffed a laugh, rough and warm. “Tell me about it. I think my brain’s just soup at this point.”

“Same.” You grinned at the ceiling, still feeling the ghost of his gaze on you. “But at least we’ve got this.”

“This?”

“Yeah. This.” You gestured vaguely between you, as he shifted in his seat, giving you another glimpse of his toned stomach, the way his sweatpants rode low on his hips. “The games. The dumbass voice chats. The… other stuff.”

There was a pause.

Then, so quiet you almost missed it—

“This is the only part of the day I actually look forward to.” Sol admitted.

Your breath caught. “…Yeah,” you murmured after a beat, voice softening. “Same.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was loaded—warm and electric, like the air right before a thunderstorm. Then Sol broke it, his voice dipping into something teasing but dangerously sincere.

“Your voice is dangerous, you know.”

You laughed. “Why? ‘Cause it almost got you killed in-game?”

“No.” His tone shifted, low and deliberate. 

“Because I think I’m kind of into it.”

“Oh my god—” You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it across your room, your face burning.

Sol laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, and you could picture him—sprawled back in his chair, smug as hell, that lazy grin playing on his lips.

You both laughed it off—mostly—but when the moment settled, neither of you moved to leave the call. The screen stayed open, Sol’s heavy-lidded gaze still fixed on you, lingering like he was memorizing every detail.

Fuck. The night couldn’t end like this.

You glanced at your clock. “…I don’t have another final until Friday.”

Sol’s eyebrow arched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, then slowly—deliberately—spread your legs, letting him see the mess you’d made, still glistening between your thighs. “So… you could come over. Bring snacks.”

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched against his desk, like he was fighting the urge to reach through the screen.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough.

You smirked, then—just as his eyes darkened with hunger—you poked at the screen, sticking your tongue out before abruptly ending the call.

Leaving him with nothing but the image of you.

And another hard bulge in his sweatpants.

“Fuck,” Sol groaned to the empty room, already scrambling for his keys. He grabbed his jacket, his pulse racing. 

Yeah. This was so much fucking better than video games.

The call between you and Sol was already too much—voices tangled in panting breaths, the slick, filthy sound of skin on skin, the way Sol whined your name like a prayer. It was overwhelming. Distracting. So much so that you didn’t even notice the other set of ragged breathing.

A third participant in the call.

Hidden in the shadows of the voice channel—camera off, letting go rugged breaths —Hyugo sat frozen at his desk, bathed in the dim blue glow of his monitor. All he’d meant to do was pop in, apologize for trolling you both earlier, maybe convince you to queue up another round. But then he’d heard your voice. Sol’s voice. And then—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His fingers, which had been idly scratching at his thigh, froze. His breath hitched, sharp and sudden—like he’d just taken a hit straight to the chest.

This wasn’t just a call.

This was filth. A live, unfiltered, obscene performance—and he was the unseen, uninvited spectator.

And that alone made him hard, fast.

It wasn’t long before Hyugo’s baby-blue hair, usually tied back in a neat half-pony, now hung loose—sweat-damp strands clinging to his flushed cheeks. His lips—god, his lips—were bitten raw, his teeth sinking into the fabric of his own shirt to stifle the pathetic little noises threatening to spill out.

He hadn’t meant to stay.

He definitely hadn’t meant to touch himself.

But the way you talked to Sol—low, commanding, dripping with filthy promises—it wrecked him. The way Sol begged for you, voice cracking on your name, the way he whimpered when you teased him—

Hyugo’s hand was already slipping past the waistband of his sweats before he could stop himself.

“Fuck,” he breathed, silent, trembling.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Wasn’t supposed to be listening.

But god, the way you talked about ruining Sol—

His cock twitched in his palm, already leaking, already aching as he quickly fisted himself, trying to be quiet. He could’ve put himself on mute, but—

The risk of getting caught turned him on more.

So he tested himself, gagged by his own shirt, watching his cock pulse in his grip, his thighs tensing as he fought to keep his hips from jerking forward.

He should leave. He should close the call.

But instead, his fingers tightened, stroking slow, so fucking slow, just to drag it out, just to hear more.

By the time Sol left the call, Hyugo was ruined.

His thighs shook. His free hand clutched at his own shirt, dragging it up to his mouth to bite down as his hips jerked forward—

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

He barely had the presence of mind to grab a few napkin from his desk, cupping it over the tip just as his orgasm ripped through him—a silent, shuddering cry muffled into fabric as he spilled into his palm, his cock throbbing with every pulse.

“F-fuck—!”

He slumped back in his chair, chest heaving, skin burning, his cock still twitching as he dabbed himself clean, careful not to let a single drop ruin his precious gaming setup.

Disgusting. Pathetic. And so fucking good.

He still couldn’t believe you two—blissfully unaware, oblivious to the fact that he’d just come to the sound of you and Sol falling apart.

Hyugo’s lips curled into a shaky, guilty smirk.

"Maybe I should still be annoying in y’all’s games more often," he thought, breathless, wicked. 

This wasn’t better than video games, but—Fuck.

He didn’t mind shit like this now. He’d take it every damn time.

…y’all… should I write a threesome? jkjk…

Also... not gonna lie, writing this made me like Sol. Just a tiny bit.

[plutoenjoyer]

jooyeon — bothering you while you study

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

genre: fluff, suggestive 𓇬 wc: 1.2k tags: female reader, college student!reader, fluff, drabble, established relationship, slightly suggestive, hair playing, wearing his clothes, reader wears glasses (in general or just while studying, up to you), not proofread lol warnings: none summary: jooyeon pesters you while you're cramming for a test because "he's bored" but in reality, he really wants you to hang out with him because he can't stop thinking about how cute you look wearing his big sweatshirt and pajama shorts. plus if he doesn't get attention he will die

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

you're sitting on the floor on the coffee table of your living room, glasses on and pencil in hand trying to write down and remember as many things as you can for a big test the next day. jooyeon, who's been mindlessly scrolling on his phone for the past hour and a half, starts poking your arm with the end goal of annoying you into giving him attention.

if you were paying more attention, you'd know he's actually totally checking you out right now. truthfully, he likes how you look when you're focused. and your glasses being slightly crooked on your face is cute. you don't think twice when you steal one of his sweaters or hoodies from his closet now that you've been dating this long, but you fail to realize just how much it affects him when you do so, with the knowledge you're not wearing much underneath.

when you don't respond to him he blows on your neck which earns him a dissatisfied glare, but you can't stay mad at him for long because after the pestering doesn't work he's fully given up, his forehead hitting the table with a dull thud.

without him knowing (so you don't give him any more fodder to start bothering you again), you glance at his head face down on the table. his hair bulks up against the surface and you truly wonder how it looks so full and healthy and soft when it's been bleached so many times. and you keep watching him as he chooses to take a nap next to you, shifting his face so his cheek is squished against his arm.

you really, really try to keep studying but the pitiful sight before you has you exceedingly distracted. he's like a sad puppy. you would have no heart if you let a sad puppy keep being sad. not that you really wanted to stop studying for this stupid test. of course not.

he's so handsome when he's quiet, you think to yourself with a silent snicker because you know he'd make a big deal out of it if you said such an underhanded compliment.

before you know it you're petting his head, running your fingers gently through his hair and just barely scratching his scalp. and when his eyes open to look at you, blearily, he asks you questions but it comes out more like dull statements, "why are you petting me. aren't you too busy for me right now." he goes back to sulking.

"you seem to like it, though?" you lack the self control not to tease him when he gets like this, so in a way he did successfully distract you. but that self-aware thought doesn't pass your mind, because he gives you an unnecessarily attractive groan of displeasure before burying his face deeper into the crook of his arm, and you have to kick yourself before your mind can wander. "jooyeon," you coo at him, "baby."

okay, fine you get why being ignored could be annoying but in your defense you had good reason to (plus, you know him. he will not relent if you even give him the tiniest reaction).

roundabout way or not, you now have your full attention on him. you put your pencil down and think about how amusing this will be.

you decide to play footsies with him, as your legs are tucked under the coffee table. you run your foot along side his calf and nudge him a little, quietly giggling to yourself when you see his shoulders tense just a bit. you use this opportunity to twirl his hair around your finger. "joo, come on," you make it a point to push the notebook further from your body and adjust yourself in your spot to face him better, "look, you got me. i've done enough notes for the night. if i cram any more i think my head might explode,"

finally, he shifts his head just a bit to look at at you, eyes obscured by the mess of his bangs, "are you sure?"

"super sure."

he immediately perks up with a sparkle in his eye, "finally! i thought i was gonna die."

"what, youtube shorts isn't enough to keep you entertained?"

"i mean, yeah, but at a certain point i feel my brain start to melt," he huffs. "and not just that, it's impossible to just sit on my phone just waiting around when my hot girlfriend is sitting next to me literally wearing my clothes."

"wow. i'm sure flattered." you give him a sarcastic snort but truthfully the compliment sends butterflies down your tummy. you prompt him, a suggestive tone taking over your voice, "you like me wearing your clothes that much, though? care to tell me more?"

any other time he might have just rolled his eyes at you playfully or stuck his tongue out with a 'you wish' but for some reason he chooses to take your request seriously. an arm comes up closer behind your back, and he uses that as leverage to lean into you. "yeah," he begins, and your eyes follow his gaze when he looks down to your legs. with his palm, he ghosts his hand from just above your knee and then into your inner thigh, stopping just before he makes contact with anything more sensitive. your breath hitches ever so slightly, but then his hand changes course to your hip and pushes the sweater up a bit more. you can feel the slight breeze against your waist, "you look good in it. i can take one look at you and know you're mine,"

"joo." you say his name in a way that wants to scold him, but it comes out much weaker and more lovestruck than you'd have liked, "i-i was just joking."

he leans his body closer to you, lowering his voice in your ear. you can feel his breath against your neck as he gives you a downright seductive laugh, "but baby, you asked." he shifts even closer to you so that he can have better reach of your waist. you're more than happy to welcome the feeling of his hands roaming your body.

you're doing your best not to look at him because you just know that it's obvious he's getting to you. you feel your face and neck getting hot. you adjust your glasses on your face. "okay, yeah, i did," you admit, pursing your lips, and finally look to his face to see his beautiful thick eyelashes looking up at you, giving you an insanely sultry look and you still can't believe he's a real man that exists because of how unfathomably pretty he is. your stomach does a flip because fuck this, and you blurt out, "are you gonna kiss me or what?"

he bursts out laughing. and though the thick tension in the air breaks, it doesn't change the desire radiating off the both of you. he'd give you anything you wanted if you asked. and so, his lips are on yours. the impact of it causes you to have to lean against the seat cushions of the couch behind you for support. you're immediately enveloped by him relentlessly searching for the warmth of your mouth, with his hands eagerly slipping under the sweater and ghosting over the soft skin of your abdomen.

for the rest of the evening the notes on the table remain unfinished.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

masterlist | request rules | inbox

thank you for reading! <3

[blossomarlia]

hi, could you write a drabble with reader x remus where she rlly struggles with getting involved or going to hang out with people without explicitly being invited (just feeling really worried about being rejected) and he kind of reassures her and looks after her?

hi, thanks for this request! hope you enjoy, i generally don't write school-aged drabbles but thought this fit the best.

summary: your fear of being rejected stops you from joining your friends, but remus reassures you

remus x fem! reader (implied early stages romance)

Sitting by one of the fireplaces in the Gryffindor common room, you’re wondering how many of the people around you have exchanged glances over the top of your head. You can almost feel judgement thickening the air, raised eyebrows and confused smiles that ask why is she even here? To be honest, the only reason that you haven’t moved away is that you were technically sitting here first, and the rest of them milled in and took their spots nearby- then again, was it purposeful, your taking a place on one of the sofas they often use? In hindsight it’s just embarrassing. They must be assuming that you sat down just so they’d have no choice but to talk to you. 

You know you’re expecting the worst of this group, none of whom particularly deserve it. The flock of seventh-years surrounding you are generally a good bunch; Lily, Sirius, Marlene, Mary, Peter, James, Remus, and Dorcas,. You want to be one of them more than  you want most other things, which is somewhat pathetic and completely obvious in the way you’re always hanging around. They may all be lovely, and your friends (to some extent), but you know how irritating it can be if there’s always someone not quite in the group hanging around.

You should leave. Get up and make some comment about homework, or whatever, and wait for absolutely nobody to stop you. It’s kinder to everybody. Isn’t it?

Lost in your thoughts, you miss what Lily says next, and then they’re all getting to their feet. You give what you hope is a casual smile, simultaneously relieved of your spiralling and disappointed that they’re fulfilling your expectations.

There’s a tap on your shoulder- Remus, your favourite, whose hair has grown out over Christmas and now curls over his ears. He seems to get taller and lovelier with every passing moment. It’s difficult to make eye contact.

“We’re heading to the greenhouses, did you hear?” He says quietly, hand stilling instead of pulling away. You press your lips together and nod, carefully hiding any sort of misplaced hurt. It’s not as if you’re entitled to an invitation.

“Alright, I’ll see you later!” Too enthusiastic.

His brows pinch together. “You’re not coming?”

You look up at the others, who are collecting scarves and bags on their way to the portrait-hole. How can you admit to Remus that you don’t think they want you along? How can you tell him, anyone, that you’re far too afraid of being made fun of, or becoming a joke within their tight-knit group, to risk it?

“Oh, I don’t know. I have heaps of homework.”

“You do?” He raises his eyebrows. You feel caught, despite not having been accused of any sort of lie. “I thought you finished it all yesterday.”

You’d been studying when he and Lily joined you, and all day you’ve been wondering why they chose to. You probably put a but too much value on people choosing to sit next to you in class or during study; it’s unlikely that it was more than an absence of other free tables.

“...Some, yeah. And I wouldn’t want to- you know, I wouldn’t…” You trail off and give an awkward laugh. Remus’ gentle expression is making the inside of your mouth hurt.

“What?” You’re not used to your excuses mattering so much. Mostly, you mutter something and disappear to your dorm in time to avoid any drama. Is he feeling guilty, awkward about having made plans as a group in front of someone else? You cringe at the notion of Remus realising how friendless you probably are, of his pity. 

You know it’s your own fault for being like this. You’ve had friends in the past- cool, funny, popular, attractive- who frequently left you out on purpose. A drunken conversation in fifth year revealed that you were tolerable at best, a joke at worst. Always pushing in and so desperate for invitations that to extend them could only be ironic. 

You think about that more often than you should. You’re constantly hyperaware of how tolerable you are, sure that you’ll say or do something which will make everyone else realise exactly why you’re not in any particular group. You can’t let that happen yet with all these people, so full of love for one another that even proximity to them feels like the experience of it. Still, they’re teenagers. Judgement is an automatic response, and Remus is clever in the way he jokes. He’ll retell this conversation to roaring laughter if you reveal too much- not that he’s ever unkind, but you sort of invite a bad impression, you think.

“It’s really fine,” You assure him. “I’m tired. It’s cold, too.”

“Right,” He nods, glancing downwards. You think you’ve won (as much as you can win, here) until he turns to James and Peter and says, “I think we’re going to stay here. Bit chilly.”

What?

James frowns, making a sound of protest. “Moony!” His eyes fall to you next, and you look away, guilty and embarrassed. You’d never even considered that pity would drive Remus to actually stay here, and now they’ll all hate you. Nice job, very well handled.

Marlene is next. “‘Cas has just finished growing the Alihotsy plant, though. We’re all going.”

“It’s been weeks since we all had the evening off- or at least, since Potter and Black didn’t have a detention each,” Lily reasons more kindly. She receives twin protests from the boys on either side of her, but remains unbothered, adding, “It’d be nice to spend a bit more time as a group.”

You’re awfully close to tears. All you’d wanted was to relieve them of yourself, to retreat to your room and wait until somebody explicitly invited you somewhere (if ever), and now you’ve gone and ruined everybody’s evening. You turn to Remus, more urgent than is likely normal. “Please just go with them,” You say softly, aware that your voice is all wobbly. “I’m just going to go to bed, I don’t want to interrupt all of you catching up. Please, it’s really okay.”

There’s a brief silence that spans the entire crowd. They’ve all heard, are all likely attempting not to laugh. Remus is giving you an awful look. 

“...Are you okay, lovely?” Mary asks. You can’t look at her, can’t look at any of them, but you’ve always been alright at masking emotion in your voice when you really try. You force something like a smile.

“Yes! Yes, completely fine, I’m only tired. Post-holiday blues, maybe.” You laugh and it sounds terrible. “I’ve really only got to go to bed. You all have fun!” Silence again. 

“We might join you all in a bit,” Remus says firmly. There are a few worried noises of assent, and they all head off. Now, you do see them looking at one another, frowning and looking upset. Poor Remus, you imagine them saying on their way to the greenhouses, stuck looking after her while we all escape.

Remus asks you to sit down again three times before you agree, still rather set on going to bed so you won’t cry in front of the entire common-room.

“What’s making you so upset?” He asks softly, once he’s finally detained you. You blink quickly and cast a glance around at the other students in the common-room, afraid to embarrass yourself more than you already have, but he’s quick to assuage the fear. “I cast a muffliato when James began talking about the Alihotsy prank- ages ago. Nobody’s heard anything, I promise.”

You swallow harshly. “Oh. Thanks. I’m sorry I’m being so- so-”

“If I could,” Remus says, firm but kind, “This will be a lot easier if we can get to the problem, here, rather than whatever you think you’ve done wrong.”

“I- right. Okay. Um,” You stammer. “They’re not really mutually exclusive.” “Why don’t you want to come? Did somebody say something hurtful?” You look at him, slightly startled. “What? It’s not that I don’t want to.”

Remus seems perplexed, looking the way he does when he’s working out a particularly difficult exam question. “No?”

“No.” You twist your fingers together so tightly that they hurt. “No, it sounds fun, it just… it’s not as if I’m going to demand to be brought along, am I?” The joke falls flat. You think you already knew it would, but it’s still a bit embarrassing to laugh and be met with a concerned frown.

 You take a few longer breaths. You can fix this. You have to fix this. 

“Look, it’s kind of you to stay here, but like Lily said- you all have the night off. It’s really not so bad not to spend it as a group. I want you to go, really.” The next smile is easier. You’ve done this before, convinced people not to feel bad for you. 

“Why would you need to demand to be brought along?” Remus asks. “We made the plans while you were right here.”

“You all made plans together,” You explain slowly. “You know, having an evening to yourselves and that sort of thing. There’s no need for- you know, I’m honestly just tired. That’s probably why I’ve reacted so oddly, it’s my own fault.”

Remus looks at you for a long while, so intent that your skin gets prickly and uncomfortable. Eventually, he speaks, quiet and considered. “...You haven’t acted oddly if that’s how you’ve been feeling.”

“Tired?”

“No, excluded.” He says gently. “You really didn’t know you were invited?” You don’t answer with more than silence, and he sighs. 

“You were. You’re always invited, dove, of course you are.”

Trying not to get to hung up on impossibilities, you shake your head quickly. “It’d be a bit rude to assume that.”

“It wouldn’t.” Remus replies immediately. Then, “Dove, what are we going to do with you?” Entirely too much to comprehend. You’re glad he goes on. “Would you look at me for a moment, please?”

You want to ask him why, or refuse, or run up to your dormitory, but you do as he says. You wonder if he knows that he could ask you to do almost anything and you’d say yes, if he’ll only keep looking at you with his coffee-coloured eyes.

“All of us- we want you to come along, wherever we are. You’re important to lots of people. Do you understand that?” “I- I just don’t want to push myself in.” You say, mortified.

“You aren’t. You’re being pulled, if anything, yeah?” His lips quirk. “When Lily said those things about spending time as a group, she meant you, too. If somebody said something that made you think otherwise, I’ll-”

“Nobody said anything,” You tell him feebly. This is all rather a lot to take in. “I think… maybe it’s more that nobody’s said I am invited, or a part of- I don’t know, it’s all sort of stupid.”

“No it’s not,” Remus disagrees. He pinches your chin quickly between thumb and forefinger, frowning again. Mary once commented that Remus would look sixty by the time you all left school, with all his worrying wrinkles. “Not stupid, but it’s not very kind to yourself, either. Why shouldn’t we want you around?”

You open your mouth and close it at his raised eyebrow. “Rhetorical question?” 

“Rhetorical question.” He confirms amusedly. “There’s no point arguing, because we do. I do. I wish you wouldn’t think otherwise.”

“I’ve only been friends with all of you for a little while, though. You’ve all been mates since first-year.” At that, Remus outright scoffs. “Have we, now?” 

You shrug. 

“James and Lily always liked each other, then? Dorcas didn’t only just start hanging around us as well?” You look down, and he sighs. “However long everybody’s known one another, the most important bit is that we all like each other, yeah? It wouldn’t matter whether we became mates at eleven or two days ago- we’re friends. Or- you know.”

You definitely don’t know, but you’re going red anyway. He was definitely talking about Lily and James- that’s all he meant by ‘you know’. Isn’t it?

Remus scratches the back of his head, quiet for another second. Then, “...Why don’t we go down to the greenhouses? We’ll stick together the whole time, you’ll not be sat by yourself again.”

“I don’t want to make you babysit.”

Remus tsks, expression becoming sterner for a moment. “Don’t think that way about yourself. I’m asking because I want you to come- it’s not worth going if you aren’t there.”

The long moment it takes for you to decipher whether he’s only being nice or if that’s the truth is enough for Remus to decide that you don’t really have a choice in the matter. Tugging you to your feet, and seeming taller than ever with your proximity, he winds his own scarf around your neck and pushes some hair behind your hear. You let him, mostly because you’re too surprised to do anything about it.

“Let’s go, before they all decide to try some of the Alihotsy themselves. Gloves?”

You manage a nervous giggle, putting your mittens on when he hands them to you. “Thanks.”

“That’s alright. Come on,” He gives you a crooked sort of smile. It’s sometimes difficult to tell if Remus is aware how good-looking he is. 

The entire group are far too enthusiastic at yours and Remus’ arrival fifteen minutes later, given the fact that it’s hardly been half an hour since they left. Either way, you’re quickly pulled into a squabble between Lily and James about- as Remus predicted- the logic of trying some Alihotsy for themselves. 

“Thank Merlin you came, you’re the only one who won’t be completely daft about this!” Lily says, linking her arm in yours. You smile before catching Remus’ eye and looking down, feeling yourself flush. Smug bastard, you think fondly.

It’s an entire two hours before everyone heads back up to the castle, having thoroughly violated curfew but without (to James and Sirius’ chagrin) having tested any of the plant which would induce hysterical laughter. You find yourself walking beside the tallest of the group in comfortable silence, a few steps behind the rest.

“Thanks for making me come with you,” You say, perhaps a little more earnestly than you ought. “It was really nice.”

“‘Course, dove.” You look up at Remus to find he’s already looking at you. He clears his throat, glancing over at Sirius and Marlene where they’re pretending to push each other into the snow. It’s likely to end in one of them following through and the other swearing eternal hatred. “We’re all glad you came along. Could even make a habit of it.”

You exhale a laugh. “Maybe.”

He gives you a sideways look. “Oh, ‘maybe’, is it?” “...Conceivably?” You grin, darting away when he grabs at you and sort of wishing you’d stayed still just to see what he’d do. Remus fixes you with a teasing glare.

“Watch it, sweetheart.”

You blink, choking on words for a minute. Sweetheart? Sweetheart!? Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheartsweetheartsweetheartsweetheart-

“You alright?” 

“Yeah!” You say, too quickly. Remus misreads your flusteredness as something else and softens, taking hold of your sleeve and tugging you towards him. You go easily.

“If it’ll help,” He says thoughtfully, “You can ask me if you’re invited to things. Or I’ll just tell you. Then you won’t have to go to the trouble of assuming either way.”

You like him so, so much. “That’s really nice of you, Remus.”

“Eh,” He shrugs. “You know me.”

Now, it’s harder not to smile than anything else. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble. It’s really my problem, I shouldn’t-”

“Enough,” He interrupts gently. “Just say yes, dove, if it’ll help. I won’t be unhappy either way.”There are several places within you, the more unkind parts, that say accepting his offer would be like accepting pity. But there are also places that are warmed at the thought, that remember how people reacted when you arrived in the greenhouse, that can start imagining a reality wherein nobody hated your presence by the sofas tonight, and those bits win the argument for the first time in a very long time. You look up at Remus, his soft eyes and fluffy hair dusted with snow, and nod.

[gf2bellamy]

heyyyy

i love love love the sunshine!reader x post!prison spencer fics, they’re so so cute

If you could, could you write one with them where they’ve gotten together recently and they’re coming back from a case that hit reader particularly hard, and she kinda just shuts off which is so unusual for her. So spencer’s so concerned and confused and he wonders if he did anything wrong and when he asks her about it, she just completely breaks down and cries her entire life’s hurt out to him and he finally realizes why she tries to be the sunshine in everyone’s life (cuz she grew up without it) and he just wants to protect her from the world

(im so so sorry if this is so detailed and long) (also i really yearn for angst/ hurt comfort if you cant tell) (you can totally ignore this, i dont really mind <3)

thankyouuuu smm <3

unhappy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader crying , mention of a rough case , spencer making food for reader a/n: hiii !!! i hope you like this <3 ( also i love flangst too <3 )

Spencer stood beside you in the small kitchenette of the jet, watching as you absentmindedly stirred honey into your tea. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Do you want to solve a Sudoku?” 

Normally, it was the other way around—you were the one who pulled out your puzzle book with a bright smile, nudging him until he joined in. But tonight, you hadn’t even reached for it. Spencer had noticed how quiet you’d been since the case wrapped up.

You barely glanced at him before shaking your head. “No, I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice exhausted. Then, without another word, you picked up your cup and walked away. 

Spencer watched you retreat to your seat, concern settling deep in his chest. You were always the one who tried to lift his spirits after a hard case, the one who made sure he wasn’t drowning in his own thoughts. For you to be this withdrawn… it wasn’t like you. 

For the rest of the flight, he didn’t press you.

Instead, he simply sat beside you, letting his knee rest lightly against yours—a small offering of comfort. You didn’t react, but you didn’t move away either. He kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, wondering if he had done something wrong. Had he been too wrapped up in the case to notice you struggling? Had he missed something? The thoughts gnawed at him. 

When the jet finally landed and everyone gathered their things, Spencer, as always, carried your bag to your car. Normally, you’d roll your eyes playfully and tease him with a “What a gentleman.” But tonight, there was no teasing. No light chatter. Just silence. 

Spencer placed your bag down beside you, studying your face as you unlocked the car. 

“I came with Emily,” he said carefully. “Is it alright if I drive with you?” 

It wasn’t entirely true—he could have easily gotten a ride home another way—but that wasn’t the point. He just needed to be next to you, to make sure you were okay. Pretending to need a ride was just an excuse. 

You looked up at him, and the sadness in your eyes made his heart clench. He hated seeing you like this, so unlike yourself. 

“Yeah, sure,” you murmured, trying to force a smile, but it faltered before it could fully form. You gave up and just got into the car, and Spencer followed, settling into the passenger seat. 

The ride was quiet. Spencer made a few attempts at conversation—small observations about the case, about a book he’d read recently, about how Rossi had nearly fallen asleep with his head against the window—but you only responded with a few short words.

Eventually, he gave up and just stared out the window, worried. 

When you pulled up to his apartment building, Spencer hesitated before unbuckling his seatbelt. He turned to you, studying the way your fingers gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. 

“Do you want to come up?” he asked softly. 

You blinked, barely meeting his gaze. “I-uhm…” Your fingers tapped absently against the leather of the wheel, the hesitation clear in your posture. 

Spencer scrambled for another reason, another way to make it easier for you to say yes. “You can come get that book I told you about,” he added quickly, even though he didn’t really care about the book. He just wanted to get you inside, to keep you from going home alone to sit in silence with your thoughts. 

For a moment, he thought you might say no. But then, you let out a quiet sigh, too exhausted to argue. 

“Yeah… okay,” you whispered, turning off the engine. 

Relief washed over Spencer as he stepped out of the car, waiting for you to follow. 

The two of you walked quietly into his apartment. As soon as you stepped inside, you toed off your shoes, your movements sluggish with exhaustion. Spencer set your bag down near the door, watching you carefully. 

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked gently, already thinking of what he could make you. 

You shook your head without hesitation. “No, that’s fine,” you murmured, your voice quiet.

Spencer frowned slightly but didn’t push. Instead, he watched as you stepped toward his bookshelf, running your fingers lightly over the spines of his meticulously arranged collection. 

“Which one was it again?” you asked, tilting your head as you scanned the titles. 

“The one on the second shelf, third from the right,” Spencer supplied, stepping closer. “But you don’t actually have to give it back. That was just an excuse to get you up here.” 

Your fingers froze on the book spine, and for the first time that night, you turned to look at him fully. His honesty caught you off guard.

A small, tired smile ghosted over your lips. “Yeah, I figured.” 

Spencer’s gaze softened as he took a slow step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want to talk about it?” He watched you closely, his eyes filled with concern, as he waited for a response. 

You bit your lip. Spencer could see you trying to hold it together, but he knew you weren’t fine—not by a long shot. Without another thought, he moved closer and gently pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

That was all it took.

The moment you felt his warmth, the dam you had built up inside cracked. Your tears came in a rush, soaking the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him tightly. Spencer’s heart tightened at the sight, but he held you even closer, one hand moving to the back of your head, threading through your hair in soft, steady motions. 

“It was so awful, Spencer,” you whispered between sobs, your voice shaky as you gripped his shirt.

Spencer pressed his cheek against the side of your head, his other hand moving in slow, soothing circles across your back. He didn’t need to say anything, not yet. He knew you just needed to be held, to let it out.

His voice was gentle when he spoke, full of understanding. “I know," he murmured. "I know. I know it was hard” 

You clung to him, your face pressed against his chest. You let out a shaky breath, your voice muffled. “Everything is,” you whispered. 

You couldn’t stop the tears. Spencer felt his heart tighten in his chest at the sound of your pain. His instinct was to hold you tighter, to shield you from the world’s cruelty, and he did just that, tightening his grip around you as though he could absorb some of your suffering. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for just a moment before he whispered, “I’ve got you.” 

The simple words were a promise, a vow. And he meant them with every fiber of his being. He didn’t let go of you—not for a second. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t try to offer solutions. He just held you. Let you cry. Let you feel. 

Time passed. Your sobs became softer, less desperate. His hands gently stroked your back.

Eventually, the tears began to slow, and you pulled back slightly, your face flushed with emotion. Spencer’s hands were immediately there, his fingertips brushing away the last of your tears, his touch tender and careful. 

You sniffed, trying to gather yourself. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice small, fragile, as you wiped at your eyes. 

Spencer’s eyes softened even more as he cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. He made sure you met his gaze, wanting you to see the sincerity in his eyes. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice soft. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

His voice grew even softer as he added, “I’m here for you, always.” 

A small, shaky breath escaped your lips. You stared up at him, still feeling vulnerable, but in a way that felt safe now.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but filled with the depth of gratitude that words alone couldn’t capture. 

Spencer’s gaze softened even more. He shifted slightly, his hands still resting gently on your face, and then he let out a soft chuckle.

“You know, crying is actually a biological response that releases endorphins, which are natural painkillers. So technically, you just gave yourself a free therapy session. Pretty efficient if you ask me. ” he said, giving you a sheepish grin. 

You couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle of your own, your lips curling into a smile.

Spencer looked down at you, his eyes warm and soft. “See? I can still get a smile out of you, even if it’s just a little one,” Spencer said, his voice teasing but gentle, his lips curving upward in a small, knowing grin. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out, the small smile not leaving your face. You kept your hands on his waist, absentmindedly toying with the fabric of his shirt.

Spencer’s fingers brushed a loose strand of your hair from your face, his touch soft and tender.

“Do you want something to eat now?” he asked, his voice gentle. His hand lingered on your cheek, thumb continuing to make slow, soothing circles along your skin. 

You paused for a moment, realizing you had been so caught up in everything that you hadn't even thought about food. As the thought crossed your mind, you realized you were hungry.

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled weakly, the exhaustion still in your voice, but it felt a little more like your usual self. “I think I could eat something.” 

Spencer’s smile softened, reaching for your hand, as he gently led you toward the kitchen. 

His kitchen was small, but organized, just like everything else in his apartment. He pulled out a chair for you at the tiny table , his hand lingering on the back of it as you sat down.

Spencer moved quietly, pulling open cabinets.

“I could make grilled cheese,” he offered, glancing over his shoulder. “Or, if you’re not in the mood for that, I have ingredients for pancakes. Though I should warn you, my flipping technique is… inconsistent.”

A small, breathy laugh escaped you, and Spencer’s chest tightened at the sound. There it was. That little spark of you—the one that had been missing all night.

“Grilled cheese is perfect,” you murmured, resting your chin in your hand. Your voice was still quieter than usual.

Spencer nodded, turning back to the stove to hide the way his lips twitched upward. He could feel your eyes on him, studying his movements.

“You’re staring,” he said lightly, not turning around.

“Am not,” you lied, but he heard the smile in your voice.

“You are. And statistically, people who deny staring are actually staring 87% of the time.”

You snorted. “You just made that up.”

“Maybe.” He peeked over his shoulder, grinning when he caught your amused expression. “But you can’t prove it.”

The playful banter was familiar. It was you—the real you, the one who always found a way to smile even on the hardest days. The one who had, more times than he could count, pulled him out of his own spirals with nothing but a joke or a gentle nudge.

Spencer flipped the sandwich with only minimal cheese casualties, then slid the plate toward you. You took it gratefully, your fingers brushing his for just a second.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a small bite.

He leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed, watching as you ate. He wanted to memorize this—the way your nose scrunched slightly when you chewed, the way your fingers tapped idly against the plate when you paused to think.

“You’re doing it now,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Doing what?”

“Staring.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he tilted his head, his voice softening. “I’m just… glad you’re feeling better.”

You looked down at your plate, but not before he caught the faint pink dusting your cheeks. “Me too,” you admitted. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to just… let it out.”

Spencer hummed in understanding. He knew better than anyone how easy it was to lock things away, to pretend you were fine until the weight of it all became unbearable.

And then, halfway through your plate, you spoke.

“I think I scared Emily today.”

Spencer paused, glancing up. “How so?”

You toyed with your fork, avoiding his gaze for a moment before sighing. “I just… didn’t say anything the entire day. And you know how she is—she kept trying to get me to talk, but I just… couldn’t.”

Spencer nodded, understanding. Emily wasn’t one to let things go easily.

“She’ll get it,” he said softly. “She knows how these cases can get under your skin.”

You hummed, pushing a piece of food around your plate absently. “Yeah. I just… I hate being like this.”

Spencer studied you for a moment before stepping closer, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. “You’re allowed to not be okay sometimes,” he murmured. “Even sunshine has to set.”

The words were quiet, but they made you look up at him, your eyes softening.

And then—

A real smile. Small, but real.

“Since when did you get so poetic, Spencer?”

Spencer felt his cheeks warm, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I read a lot.”

You laughed—actually laughed—and the sound was like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Spencer’s chest tightened. There she is.

You finished your food, then leaned back in your chair, finally looking more like yourself—your usual brightness seeping back in, bit by bit.

Spencer couldn’t help the small, private smile that tugged at his lips. 

You caught his expression and narrowed your eyes playfully. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” he said, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him. “Just… it’s good to see you smiling again.”

Your grin softened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “Well, I do have a pretty great grilled cheese chef.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “Flattery won’t get you a second sandwich.”

“Are you sure? Because I do have a very convincing puppy-dog stare.” You demonstrated, widening your eyes exaggeratedly.

He groaned, but he was already standing up to make another.

Because for you he’d do anything , if it meant that he got to see that light in your eyes again.

[7brownsuga7]

Hii 😊

If you’re taking requests can I please request jungkook first time with no condom and he makes her squirt for the first time, they go for a second round bc jungkook is obsessed 💋😌 size kink + praise kink 🫣.

Also I LOVE YOUR WORK ❣️ read all your fics, literally slay !! 🌟 take care 🤍

First of all thank you so much ily🫶🏽 lm so happy you enjoy my work, I hope you like this one too. I decided to make it extra long since it’s been time since I’ve last did one. You take care too 💋

Notes: MDNI!!! Idk guys I kind of fell in love with Jungkook all over again after writing this. Possessive + desperate Jungkook. He works you tf out! Also sorry if I repeated a lot of shit here I was tired as FUCK writing this!! (Word count 4k+)

The city hummed softly beyond the apartment window, neon lights casting a warm glow against the walls. You leaned back against the couch, stretching your legs across Jungkook’s lap as the remainders of a half watched movie played quietly in the background. The night had started simple, takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, easy conversation flowing the way it always did when you were with him.

But there was something different in the air tonight. Something heavier.

Jungkook’s hand rested on your thigh, his fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles against your skin. It was innocent enough - or maybe you were just telling yourself that. Because the way his touch lingered a little too long, the way his eyes flickered to your lips every time you spoke, made it impossible to ignore the heat pooling low in your stomach.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice smooth and low as he tilted his head to study you.

You realised he did that a lot - study you. It made you nervous especially because you didn’t know what he was thinking.

You swallowed, willing yourself to play it cool despite the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat.

“Just… thinking.”

His lips curved into a small smile, one that sent a shiver down your spine. “About what?”

You hesitated, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. About how good you look right now. About how badly I want you. But you didn’t say any of that. Instead, you shrugged lightly, pretending like his thumb dragging along your inner thigh wasn’t making your thoughts spiral.

Jungkook chuckled softly, but there was something darker behind it - something knowing. He shifted beneath you, leaning closer until his face was mere inches from yours. “You sure that’s all?” His eyes slightly squinting daringly.

His breath was warm against your skin, and suddenly, the space between you felt unbearably small. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks - months, was finally threatening to spill over.

You could feel the wetness between your legs as your eyes shifted towards his ajar lips for a second, you bite your own absentmindedly.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, his voice softer now.

“Doing what?”

“Biting your lip like that.” His eyes dipped down, watching as you sucked it between your teeth. “You know it drives me crazy.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, and you felt your walls start to crumble. You should’ve been used to this - teasing, flirting, the constant push and pull - but tonight felt different. More intense. Like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t take back.

“You wanna know what I’m thinking?” you asked quietly, surprising yourself with the boldness in your tone.

Jungkook’s hand tightened on your thigh, his dark eyes locking with yours. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Tell me.”

For a second, you hesitate, the way he was looking at you like he was barely holding himself together, was the thing that almost shattered the last of your restraint. Before you could say anything, he says, “should I tell you what I’ve been thinking about?”

He could tell you were hesitant to say whatever was on your mind. He had a feeling what it was - or more so hoped it was the same thing he’s been thinking about since he can remember.

You look at him surprised. “It’s something that constantly consumes my mind actually…” he continues, brown eyes never leaving yours.

He tries to hold back the slight chuckle that fights to escape his lips - seeing the way you perk up at this new discovery.

You’re so cute.

“I’m thinking about how much I want you,” he admits, the words tumbling out. He’s wanted to tell you this for the longest, he’s usually very bold with his words so the fact he’s managed to keep this on for so long has both surprised and killed him. “And how long I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t.”

Your breath hitched - just for a moment, but it was enough to make his stomach twist. Shit. Maybe you didn’t feel the same. Did he completely fuck this up?

When you make no move to speak, he slowly starts to sit back. Embarrassment creeping in. He didn’t think about the rejection part.

His moves come to a halt when your fingers grab his shoulders. “No no no, wait” you hurriedly speak. You were in such shock that you forgot to reply.

“I feel the same too. I just, I-“

And then, before you could say anything else, his hand slid higher, his fingers brushing against the hem of your shorts.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips hovered over yours, “how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” He couldn’t help but to bask in this excitement of his, grinning like a mad man. But everything changes when your fingers move towards his hair, playing with the dark strands like you usually did - but this time it was different, more intimate.

“For someone that’s usually so bold - why is it taking you so long to kiss me?” You mumble not missing the way his eyes grow big with shock at your sudden words.

To be fair, all he needed was your permission and he was on you like wildfire. All the times he’s fantasised about this moment and now he is actually living in it, oh yeah he couldn’t be anymore eager.

The hard on in his pants proves just that.

His lips crash on to yours with so much eagerness that it almost startles you. Almost - because just like him you were eager too. The feel of his lips as they work against yours is enough to make you moan. He groans at the sound of it - hands roaming your body, savouring every touch.

Too desperate for his touch, you whisper, “Touch me”. Even though his hands had already explored almost every inch of your body, still you craved more, more attention where you ached the most.

It’s not that his lips on yours weren’t enough - because fuck, they were. But your other lips needed him too.

Your sudden boldness this evening takes him by surprise. Usually, he’s the blunt one.

But he knows exactly what you mean.

His eyes darken, the shock fading into something far more dangerous, something hungry. Without a word, his hand trails lower, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear, teasing, like he wants to make you beg for it.

“You want me here?” he asks, voice low and rough, his fingers barely grazing where you throb. The question is almost mocking - he already knows the answer.

You nod, biting your lip to hold back a whimper, but that isn’t enough for him.

“Say it again,” he demands, his mouth ghosting over your jaw, breath hot against your skin. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as heat coils low in your stomach. You’re already melting beneath his touch, but the way he’s holding back, like he wants you to break first - has you trembling.

“Touch me,” you repeat, voice softer this time, but no less desperate. “Please.”

A low groan escapes him as if your plea snaps whatever restraint he was holding on to. His fingers slip beneath the thin fabric, and the moment he touches you - really touches you, you let out a gasp, your body arching into his hand.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he starts to give you exactly what you asked for.

His fingers move slowly at first, sliding through your wetness with an agonising patience that makes your whole body tense. He’s teasing you - taking his time like he wants to see just how much you can handle.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he’s in awe. His lips find your neck, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin while his fingers circle that aching spot, just barely giving you what you need.

It’s not enough. Not even close.

A frustrated whimper escapes you, your hips shifting instinctively, chasing more friction. He chuckles softly against your neck, clearly enjoying how desperate you are beneath him.

“Impatient?” he teases, but his voice is rough, strained, like holding back is starting to get to him too.

“Yes,” you breathe, no longer caring how needy you sound. “I want more.”

His breath stutters for a moment, all the control he’s had shifting immediately. Without warning, his fingers press deeper, sliding inside you in one smooth, perfect motion. The stretch has you gasping, your body arching into him as he curls his fingers just right.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, watching your face closely, like he wants to memorise every reaction.

You nod quickly, words slipping from your lips in a broken moan. “Yes please, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. If anything, your begging only fuels him. His pace quickens, fingers working you open while his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that have your thighs trembling.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “Falling apart for me. So pretty when you’re like this.”

The heat building inside you tightens, overwhelming and electric, and you know you’re close, so close it’s almost unbearable. He can tell, too. The way your body clenches around his fingers only makes him work you harder, chasing your release like it’s the only thing that matters.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his mouth brushing against yours. “I want to feel it.”

And with one last stroke - deep and perfect - you do. The pleasure crashes over you in an overwhelming wave, your whole body trembling as his name falls from your lips, breathless and broken.

He doesn’t stop until he’s released every last drop of pleasure from you, watching you fall apart with a look that’s nothing short of possessive. Your body finally relaxes beneath him, a shaking mess. H leans down to kiss you - slow and deep, like he’s already planning to do it all over again.

Your pulse is still racing, body trembling as you try to catch your breath, but he isn’t finished with you. Not even close.

Before you can fully come down, his lips trail lower, leaving a path of soft, lingering kisses down your body. Every touch feels electric, like he’s determined to keep you on edge, to push you even further.

“You can take more, can’t you?” voice low and smooth, but there’s an edge to it - a challenge.

Your body is already oversensitive, but the hunger in his eyes makes your stomach twist with excitement. You nod, barely able to form words, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

He moves between your thighs without hesitation, spreading you open as if you belong to him. And when his mouth finally meets you -warm and demanding, you let out a broken moan, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Fuck Jungkook” The words fall from your lips as he licks a slow, deliberate stripe over your most sensitive spot, his tongue working you with the same devastating precision as his fingers.

He hums against you, pleased by your reaction, and the sound of his name leaving your lips. He never thought he’d hear you call his name in this intimate situation - he’s dreamed it, fantasised but to actually hear it, so desperate and fucked out has him relishing in it. The vibration sends another pulse of pleasure through you. Your hips twitch, but his hands hold you down firmly, like he doesn’t plan on letting you escape.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. “I could do this all night.”

He gives kisses to your inner thighs before going right back in.

The intensity is almost too much, and yet you don’t want him to stop. Every flick of his tongue, every soft suck, pulls you closer to that sharp edge again - you’re helpless against the rush building inside you.

Your hands tighten in his hair as your body starts to shake again, your thighs threatening to close around his head, but he doesn’t slow down. If anything, the way you’re falling apart beneath him only makes him work you harder.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he says, voice rough and commanding. “I want to feel you lose control.”

His words alone send another wave of heat crashing through you, and when he sucks your clit between his lips, it’s too much. Your body tenses, pleasure ripping through you with the upmost amount of force, and you cry out his name as you come undone all over again.

He doesn’t pull away - not for a while even as you’re there trembling, body completely worn out. Only then does he lift his head, his lips glossy, eyes dark and full of heat as he takes in the sight of you - wrecked and breathless beneath him.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he repeats, crawling back up your body to capture your lips in a deep, possessive kiss. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

More? You think to yourself , unsure if your body can take any more.

His kiss is rough, deep and claiming - like he’s determined to remind you exactly who’s making you fall apart like this. You’re still breathless, body sensitive and trembling beneath him, but the way he presses against you - hard and heavy, makes it clear he isn’t anywhere near finished.

The weight of his body against yours is intoxicating, but it’s his hardened cock between his legs that steals your breath. It’s thick and heavy, pressing against your thigh through the thin fabric still separating you.

You want him. All of him. And judging by the way his fingers curl possessively around your hips, he wants you just as badly.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice soft but full of need. “I want to feel you.”

Your words make something snap inside him. In one smooth motion, he sits back on his heels, dragging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. The sight of him, his toned chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, only makes the ache between your thighs grow stronger.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, his gaze never leaving yours as his hands move to his waistband. He takes his time, teasing you with the slow drag of his zipper before finally pushing his jeans down.

When he frees himself, your breath catches. He’s thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip - evidence of just how much he wants you. And the way he strokes himself lazily, eyes locked on you like you’re his favorite thing to ruin, makes your whole body burn.

“You want this?” he asks, voice low and dark, like he needs to hear you say it.

“Yes,” you breathe, spreading your thighs wider in invitation. “I need you.”

“I don’t…” His voice is rough, strained. “I don’t have a condom.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. But instead of worry, all you feel is a deeper ache, the need for him overwhelming any rational thought.

“I want to feel you,” you admit softly, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. “All of you.”

His breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he just looks at you like you’ve completely undone him. “You sure?”

“I’m sure”

His expression shifts as something darker, more possessive flashes in his eyes. “Fuck, baby… You’re gonna make me lose my mind.”

He moves back over you, one hand bracing beside your head while the other guides himself to your entrance. The blunt tip of him presses against your sweet pussy, and your whole body tenses with anticipation.

“Look at me,” he softly demands, and when your eyes meet his, he pushes in. Slow and deep, he’s stretching you inch by inch until he’s buried fully inside of you.

The stretch burns perfectly, leaving you breathless, and a broken moan escapes you as he sinks all the way in. He pauses, his body shaking against yours as he feels the heat of your bare walls clenching around him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your jaw before whispering, “You feel so good like this - so warm, so wet. And the way you squeeze me.” His voice drifts off as if in a trance.

His hips roll slowly, deliberately, making sure you feel every inch of him stretching you open. “I’m not gonna last if you keep clenching like that,” he groans.

A sharp gasp falls from your lips at the fullness, and he groans low in his throat, his head dropping to the curve of your neck. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight around me.”

He gives you a moment to adjust, his breath heavy and ragged against your skin, but the way your walls clench around him makes it impossible for him to stay still for long.

Each roll of his hips brushes against that perfect spot inside you, and soon, your nails are digging into his back, silently begging him for more.

The slick, wet sound of him moving inside you fills the room.

“You like that?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “The way I stretch you open - filling you so deep?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” you moan, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even closer.

His rhythm quickens. His thrusts harder and more deliberate, the sound of skin against skin sounding through the room making it all the more hot and intimate. His grip on your hips tightens as he drives into you, chasing both your pleasure with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

“Touch yourself,” he orders suddenly, his voice rough with need. “I want to feel you come while I’m inside you.”

The demand sends a fresh wave of heat through you, and with trembling fingers, you reach between your bodies to find that aching spot. The combined sensation of his deep, forceful thrusts and the pressure against your clit pushes you closer, so close you can barely hold on.

“Good girl,” he praises, watching you with dark, hungry eyes. “You’re doing so well, taking me so perfectly.”

His words, his touch - everything about him has you spiraling toward the edge. Your body tightens around him, and he groans at the sensation, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate.

Your nails dig into his shoulders. The pressure inside you coils tighter and tighter.

“You’re close” he growls, and it’s not a question, it’s a promise.

“Come for me. Let me feel you.”

“Please,” you whimper, the pressure creeping up fast.

“I’m so close.”

His thrusts grow rougher, his breath coming in ragged pants as he chases your release with relentless precision.

“Come for me, baby,” he urges, his voice cracking with how desperate he is to feel you come around him.

“Show me how much you love being stretched, being fucked raw.”

The combination of his cock hitting that devastating spot inside you and his filthy words pushes you over the edge. Your body reacts instantly, your back arching, legs trembling as the pleasure explodes through you. And then it happens. The release hits so hard and fast, you don’t even have time to hold back.

A cry falls from your lips as you squirt around him, soaking his cock and thighs in a hot, messy rush. Your whole body shakes with the force of it, and the feeling of you squirting for him drives him insane.

He wasn’t expecting that - and by the looks of your startled face, you didn’t either.

“Fuck! that’s it, baby,” he groans, his rhythm stuttering as your tight, wet heat pulls him deeper. “God, you’re perfect. So messy for me, so fucking good.” A strangled moan escapes him as he feels you drench him again, and his whole body shudders. He swears he’s in love.

He slows down, letting you ride out your orgasm while his hands stroke over your trembling thighs. But his cock is still hard - still twitching inside you, and his hunger is nowhere near satisfied.

He’s obsessed with the way you fall apart, the way your body gives itself to him completely.

“You’re so perfect,” he breathes, his voice strained as he watches you in all your glory, his fingers working you through the oversensitivity as you couldn’t continue to do it after your orgasm. “So fucking beautiful when you come like that for me.”

His hips falter, and a broken sound escapes his throat as he loses himself entirely, thrusting deep one last time as he spills inside you. The warmth of it, the raw intimacy, only adds to the dizzying high as your body clings to his, milking every last drop.

For a while, the only sound in the room is your heavy breathing, synced together.

When he finally finds his voice again, it’s softer but still a hint of desperation behind it.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he confesses, pressing a few soft kisses along your shoulder. “I want to keep you like this, full of me, until you can’t take anymore.”

He’s still buried inside you, thick, hard, and twitching with need, even after spilling himself deep. But there’s no sign of him slowing down. If anything, feeling you squirt around him, soaking his cock, has only made him more obsessed.

His weight warm and comforting as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You okay?”

You nod, a lazy smile curling on your lips as you meet his gaze. “More than okay.”

His expression softens, and he leans down to kiss you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring every second. And as he holds you close, it’s clear neither of you is quite ready to let go.

His lips trace your jaw, then your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. Even after everything, he’s still hard inside you, and the way his hips roll, slow and deliberate, makes it clear he isn’t nearly finished.

His hands trail possessively over your hips, squeezing like he’s memorizing every inch of your body. When he pulls back slightly and pushes in again, deeper than before, a broken moan escapes your lips. The stretch still makes you gasp, like your body was made to take him.

“I can’t stop,” he whispers, voice rough and needy as his lips drag across your shoulder.

“I don’t want to stop, I need you again.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you clench around him instinctively, making him groan, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“You feel so good”

The thought drives him wild, knowing his release is still deep inside you, mixing with your wetness.

His hips twitch, pushing deeper, and he lets out a ragged breath when your walls pulse around him.

“I love you like this,” he confesses, no trace of shame in his voice.

“Messy, mine. I don’t want to pull out. I want to stay inside you forever.”

He knows he sounds pathetic, but that’s exactly how you make him. He was even pathetic before he knew what you felt like, and now that he’s got a taste, he’s long gone.

The intensity of his words makes your head spin, and the raw need in his voice only ignites the fire between your legs. You’re still sensitive and aching from how hard he already made you come - multiple times, but his desperation is infectious.

“You can have me”

In one swift motion, he pulls out, only to flip you onto your stomach, dragging your hips up until you’re on your knees. His hand presses against your lower back, holding you in place, while the other strokes over your thigh in a possessive and firm action.

“You look so perfect like this,” he breathes, dragging the tip of his cock along your slick folds, teasing you until you’re trembling with need. “Like you’re made for me.”

Without warning, he thrusts back inside you deep, pulling another strained moan from your lips. The angle has him hitting deeper, rougher, and the utter force of it leaves you gasping.

“Fuck, so tight,” he groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he sets a brutal rhythm. Every thrust is deliberate, claiming, like he wants to leave his mark on every inch of you.

And god, you want it too.

“You feel me, don’t you?” he mutters, leaning forward until his chest presses against your back, his breath hot against your ear. “Deep inside, stretching you open.”

“Yes,” you gasp, your fingers curling into the leather fabric of the sofa as your body melts under his relentless pace. “I feel you everywhere.”

He chuckles low and dark, clearly satisfied by how wrecked you already are. But it’s not enough - no, not for him. His hand slides around your body, fingers finding your clit with devastating precision, and the combination of his touch and the way he’s filling you sends sparks shooting through your veins.

“Let me hear you,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. “I want to know how good I make you feel.”

You can’t hold back, not with the way he’s fucking you. Your moans spill freely, desperate, and it only seems to egg him on. His thrusts grow harder, faster, until the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room again.

A sharp curse falls from his lips. He pulls out just enough to thrust back in, like he needs to remind himself that you’re his.

“You drive me fucking crazy,”

“I can’t get enough, I’ll never get enough.”

“I want to feel you fall apart for me again,” he begs, voice breaking as his hips snap against yours.

“Please, please, baby, let me feel you.”

The raw need in his voice, the way he’s clinging to you like he’s afraid to let go, it’s too much. Your body tightens around him, the pressure building fast and intense, making you tremble beneath him.

“I’m close, fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, as your legs begin to shake.

“Come for me,” he pleads, his thrusts becoming erratic as his own release hovers just out of reach. “I need it, I need to feel you.”

“Fuck, baby”

His words shoot straight through you, making your walls flutter around his cock. He feels it immediately, and a low, satisfied chuckle escapes him as he thrusts deeper, making sure you feel every inch.

“You love it, don’t you? Being stretched out by me, so full you can barely handle it.”

You nod, breathless and trembling beneath him.

“Yeah?” he breathes, one hand slipping down to your stomach, pressing gently against the bulge he’s making inside you. “Right here, baby? Can you feel how deep I am?”

The pressure makes your head fall back with a choked moan, your whole body burning from the inside out.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, his voice dripping with pride and possession. “Letting me fuck you raw, letting me fill you up.”

His neediness takes over, and he can’t seem to get close enough, his chest close against your back as he grinds deeper.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he promises, voice shaking with how much he wants it. “Keep you full, keep you messy, until you can’t think of anything but me.”

His words unravel you, and he knows it. His thumb circles your clit again, too sensitive and too good all at once, and you can’t stop your body from trembling as another wave of pleasure continues to build. A low, satisfied groan escapes him, and his pace grows almost punishing, every thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you, dragging you higher and higher. Your legs tremble more, the pleasure building too quickly, too intensely.

“You’re gonna come for me again, aren’t you?” he teases.

His fingers speed up, and the coil inside you snaps violently. The orgasm tears through you like a lightning strike, and suddenly, you’re cumming around him again, clenching around him.

“Fuck” he groans. With one final, deep thrust, he buries himself, his body trembling as he spills inside you, marking you, claiming you in every way.

For a moment, neither of you moves, your bodies tangled together. Finally he speaks again, his voice is softer, but no less intense.

“I meant it,” he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You’re mine, and I’m not letting you go.”

And from the way his body is still pressed against yours, you know he plans to prove it.

- mimi 💋

[always-just-red]

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?  

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”  

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

[marauder-misprint]

Hiii! So I wanna start off by saying how absolutely in love I am with your writing. It's so fucking amazing and I can never get enough, I swear I've read most of your marauders' fics more than three times cause they just stay absolute gems 😭

I love how you write Remus, he's such a cutie, and I was hoping maybe you'd want to write a little fic with shy!reader x casanova!Remus? Some pining from reader's side, who's not at all popular or well-known and wayyy too shy to ever make a move, let alone on Remus? I'd like it to be fluffy, but it can contain basically anything you want 🫶

Thank you so so so much!

🥰🥰🥰 Thank you for all the love/support and the request!

And if reader won't make a move on Remus, he'll make a move on you. But politely bc that's who Remus is.

'These damn stairs'

part 2, part 3

Remus Lupin x reader

2k words

cw: fluff, mutual pining

It was a common sight to see: Remus studying in the library at a full table. Occasionally, the other seats were filled by James, Sirius and Peter, but more often than not, they were filled with various girls. He was always leaning over the table to explain something, keeping his voice low enough to not disrupt others. When he wasn’t at his own table, you would watch him offer his assistance to other girls in the area. It was obvious why so many girls loved him and purposefully sat near his table, simply hoping their expression was confused enough to catch his attention.

From what you could tell, he loved it too. How could he not? Pretty girls from every house trying to get his attention. You knew Gryffindor girls were the luckiest; they could vie for his attention in their common room as well and they had the highest chance of sharing a class with him. 

You watched Remus from afar. He was a mischievous genius, part of the Marauders and a prefect. You were a nobody who preferred to stay out of the spotlight. As much as you’d like to have Remus’ attention, you knew it would come with far more eyes on you than you wanted. You made peace with admiring him in secret. You envied the girls with the courage to lean over his shoulder, asking him to read their essay for them. You wished you were a part of the group that surrounded him during quidditch matches. You dreamed that one day Remus might invite you to Hogsmeade on a date, despite knowing that the chances of that were slim. 

You were surviving the day and on your way to the library during your free period. 

At least you were when your foot sunk into a fake step and got lodged. You cried out as your books spewed from your arms, spilling down the stairs. The few students who were around you snickered and walked around you. No one stopped to help you up or free your foot. The embarrassment alone was enough for tears to prick your eyes. You squeezed your eyes shut and took deep breaths to gather yourself.

“Hey, are you okay?” 

That voice. You’d recognize it anywhere. You opened your eyes to see Remus kneeling next to you. He had some of your things that had fallen farther down the stairs. 

“These damn stairs, right?” he joked when you didn’t answer him.

He set your things down a few steps up and then gently reached for your calf. 

“Turn your foot to the left. Then point your toes. It’ll help you wiggle your foot free,” he instructed.

You did as told and soon enough you were free. 

“Thanks,” you said softly. 

You immediately went into gathering the rest of your things.

“Yeah, it’s no problem, love.” He stood up when you did. “I’m Remus, by the way.” Part of you wanted to laugh that Remus thought you didn’t know who he was. Instead, you mumbled out your name and said, “Thanks again, Remus.”

Then, no longer feeling like studying due to your humiliation, you headed in the direction of your common room, holding your book tight to your chest. Remus watched you walk away. He recognized your face from the classes you had together and the time you spent at the library. He had never approached you in the library because of the focus that emanated from your table; he didn’t want to disturb your flow. 

You hoped to put the embarrassment of falling into a false step behind you. You had gotten Remus’ attention, but it wasn’t in the way you wanted. You certainly hadn’t wanted it to be paired with the laughter of your peers. Little did you know how deeply you caught Remus’ attention.

He chatted with his friends outside of the Transfiguration classroom the next day. When you walked by, he smiled at you and said hello. You returned the gesture and hoped you weren’t blushing as all of his friends looked at you. You took your seat and tried to calm yourself down. Simple pleasantries should not send you into such a frenzy. 

Remus noticed your reaction, finding it curious. It didn’t deter him from acknowledging you whenever he was near you. He would’ve been lying to himself if he said he didn’t think your blush was cute. The more he observed you, the more he realized how much you kept to yourself and seemed content to be alone. That, however, made Remus want to get to know you. He wanted to know the girl who hadn’t put herself directly in his path. 

He made sure to stop by wherever you were studying in the library to say hello. He would take a longer route to where his friends were sitting in the Great Hall so that he could ask you a question about homework, whether he actually needed the answer or not. He tried to catch you in between classes, but you proved to be more elusive then. Each interaction left you blushing and flustered, although after two weeks of it, you came more accustomed to it. Remus saw that as progress and hoped you would be open to having a real conversation with him. 

If someone had told you a month ago that you’d be trying to avoid Remus, you wouldn’t have believed them. However, you somewhat were. Every time he spoke to you, you felt like the whole castle was listening in and judging every word you said to him. You assumed that he was just being polite. You assumed that you were just the girl who fell on the stairs to him. 

---

“When I call your name, come get your essay and then you are dismissed,” Professor Flitwick said, holding the stack of graded essays at the front of the classroom. “James Potter, Emmeline Vance, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin.”

The first four students got up and retrieved their essays. You rested your head on your hand as you waited for your name. Obviously they weren’t in alphabetical order, and you assumed it wasn’t grade-wise either since you were confident in the essay you turned in. After a few more names were called, Flitwick called yours. You got your essay, noted the O at the top and left the classroom with a small smile on your face. Maybe it was the order in which the essays were turned in?

“Hey!” Remus called from where he was standing off to the side. 

You kept walking. There was no way that he was talking to you. Sirius or Peter must’ve been called after you. 

Then he called your name. You froze. You could hear footsteps as he jogged over to you. 

“How’d you do?” he asked once at your side. “O! Nice.”

You realized you were still holding your essay and hurriedly tucked it inside of your things.

“Yeah, I put in the work.” 

He gave you his easy smile and then ran a hand through his hair.

“I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Um, sure?” 

“Would you like to study with me later?”

You stared at him, unable to breathe. Had he just asked if you wanted to study with him? Well, yes, he had. But it didn’t feel real. Your mind started to spin with worry. You wanted to study with Remus. You wanted to spend time with him. But whenever he studied, he was always surrounded by so many other people vying for his attention. It was bad enough that whenever he talked to you, you could feel the eyes of everyone passing you; you knew that they were wondering why a guy like Remus was talking to a nobody like you. 

Remus said your name, bringing you out of your thoughts. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’d like that,” you managed to say.

His smile, which had briefly faltered at your hesitation, relaxed. 

“Great!” he said. “Meet you outside the library after dinner, yeah?” 

“Yeah. Erm, I’ll see you then, Remus.”

Remus turned and headed back towards the classroom, likely to wait for Sirius and Peter if they hadn’t been called already. You took a deep breath to steady yourself before you continued on your own way. You had just agreed to study with Remus and he was the one to ask you. He had actually asked you. And you agreed. 

It didn’t take long for your nerves to spike. You were regretting your decision to agree. The feeling of looming embarrassment hung around you for the rest of the day and through dinner. Part of you debated sending Remus a note saying that you were feeling ill and couldn’t make it, but another part told you that he might not invite you again and this could be your chance to make an impression on him. 

You ended up walking to the library. With each step, you felt your heart rate increase. You were sure that if you weren’t holding onto your things with such a death grip, your hands would be shaking. 

Remus was waiting for you, just as he had said he would. 

“Hi!” he greeted you enthusiastically. 

You smiled at him as he held open the door for you.

“I’ve got a table claimed in the back,” he told you, taking the lead.

Your nerves changed into confusion as you passed Remus’ usual collection of tables. He led you to a more secluded part of the library where his things littered one of the smaller tables with only two chairs around it.

Trying not to sound too ecstatic by the sight, you asked, “Oh, is it just us?”

Remus chuckled softly. “I invited you to study, not our entire year.”

A subtle blush dusted your cheeks.

“Oh… I just… You’re usually…” you mumbled.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. There was that easy smile again. “Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I assumed you’d rather have a more private table.” He paused as he watched your face for a change in expression. “We can move to a different table, if you’d like.”

Your blush became more prominent. He actually put thought into what table you’d like to study at? 

“Oh, no, no. This is good. You’re right. I study better when there’s less people around.”

“Helps with focusing, don’t it?”

“Yeah,” you breathed as you placed your things on the table.

His smile grew. He pulled out your chair and helped you in before taking his own seat. The two of you worked diligently in silence for a while. Every once in a while he stopped and watched you work; he loved the face you made when you focused so deeply that nothing around you could catch your attention. 

“What’d you think of Slughorn’s lecture today?” he asked.

“Hm?” You looked up from your assignment and processed what he had asked. “Kind of repetitive, if I’m honest. I guess some students need the review though…”

“Glad it wasn’t just me,” he smirked. “Good thing there are some pretty distractions in that class.”

You gave him a curious look as you repeated, “Pretty distractions?”

“You know,” he said, resting his elbow on the table, “the same pretty distraction that I have Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Defense with.”

You bit your lip. You had those classes with him.

“Believe it or not, saw that same distraction on the stairs a few weeks ago. Strange how she travels…”

Oh. oh. You blushed furiously before turning your attention back to your assignment. Remus Lupin was not flirting with you. There was no way. 

He let you return to your work, watching you sort through your thoughts for a minute before returning to his own. Once again, you worked in tandem. After a while, you started yawning. You cleaned up your stuff, which caught Remus attention. 

“This was nice,” he said as he started to gather his own things. “I’d like to study with you more, if you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have me. 

“Same time tomorrow?” you offered.

“Same time tomorrow.”

As he watched you leave the library, all Remus could think about was getting you to come out of that shell of yours. Maybe then he’d be able to ask you out on a date. 

[undercvrfan444]

Description! Pt.2 to Bully!Satoru

Warnings! 18+, AFAB, mentions of female genitalia, kind of creepy gojo (oops), smut, fingering, probably more but Idk

Authors Note! I hope you guys like this, I have other ideas too so stay tuned because i’ll prob post those within the next few days! 💙

Bully!Satoru who would knock whatever book you were reading out of your hands. The pages would mesh together and you’d lose your spot causing you to frown. “You’re such a jerk!” You’d say to him and all you’d get was a wink in response.

Bully!Satoru who enjoyed writing disgusting and downright horrible things about you on post it notes just to slip them in your bag so you’d find them at home. He knew you read the comments because when you’d come to school the next day it was always hard for you to keep eye contact with him like normal. Your agitated responses would be mere whispers instead of your usual brave demands.

Bully!Satoru who watched as rain started to pour viscously outside and spotted the pretty pink umbrella tucked neatly in the side of your backpack. He couldn’t help himself. He needed his sweet bunny to do without so he could swoop in and save the day! Taking the umbrella, he was forcing you to soak your clothes in order for him to offer his own umbrella. You should already know he would peak down to see the way your uniform clung to your body and how the bra you wore did a poor job at hiding how cold you were.

Bully!Satoru who was surrounded by girls at lunch and noticed one day how you seemed to be bothered by it. Later on when he pulled your beautifully crafted braid out of your head you simply…ignored him.

Bully!Satoru who internally was intrigued by your reaction. Seeing his sweet bunny get so bothered by him receiving attention from other females managed to turn him on more than he expected.

Bully!Satoru who notices when you’re out of school for a few days after your little fit and asks your friends why you’ve been gone. They inform him that you’re sick and would most likely be missing the worksheets you’d need. Satoru knew how dedicated you are to your studies and took it upon himself to bring those papers by your house. How he got your address? Don’t worry about it.

Bully!Satoru who showed up after school that day and knocked on your door. You answer in a simple hoodie and shorts that has Satoru salivating like a dog; his eyes raking up your legs with no shame. “Aren’t you gonna let me in? I have all your work which i’m sure you’ll need some help with.”

Shy!Reader who lets Satoru into their house and tells her mom she and a friend are going upstairs to study. Yet the moment your bedroom door closes Satoru pulls you against his chest and gropes you through the fabric. He coos in your ear and shushes you when you try to protest “Oh cmon sweet girl. Be nice and let me have my reward for doing a good deed yeah?”

His slender fingers cup your breasts over your shirt and he moves one large hand down to run a hand smooth over your ass. His lips brushed against your ear as he left featherlight kisses. “Is this what you think of when you’re all alone? My hands feeling your body up while I whisper nasty things in your ear? Hmm?”

Bully!Satoru who teased you unwavering for what seems forever about being jealous of some stupid girls. “They’re just jealous of you baby. You get all my attention while I leave those girls high and dry don’t you know?” He loves hearing you whimper while and slips his cold hands under your clothes and inspects you further.

Bully!Satoru who scanned your room quickly until something caught his eye. A small pile of neatly folded colorful post it notes tucked into a container on your desk. His tongue clicking down at you and chuckling lowly in your ear. “Oh come now. Y/n! I never would have taken you for such a dirty girl…but that’s what you want people to think right? That you’re a goody two shoes that would never dream of having sex before marriage. Yet here you are with a pile of my horny little notes that you’ve been collecting while you writhe and moan from my hands touching you.”

Bully!Satoru who wants to eat you alive. His teeth sink down into your neck leaving a blooming purple patch on a rather exposed piece of skin. “S-Satoru! That hurt!” Is all you can seem to cry out while he slips his hand lower into your shorts, rubbing his fingers over your panties.

He sits on your bed gently and pulls you into his lap, knocking your legs apart so each leg stretches over his. He already slipped your shorts off and has you tightly against his chest where you swear you can feel his heart racing. “Be a good girl for me and stay quiet. We can’t have your parents knowing how wet their daughter gets by having her bully knuckle deep in her little pussy.”

Shy!Reader that swears she’s going crazy as her head spins. Small pants and groans escape from your lips while he fucks his fingers in and out of you harshly. Obscene squelching noises fill your ears as you listen to him bury his fingers in your sopping pussy. “Please! Toru’ m-more.” The words shock both you and the boy behind you when they come out. Satoru stops his movements inside you and forces your head up so you look him in the eyes.

“That feel good baby?” You nod the best you can with his hand holding your jaw. “Tsk tsk, I didn’t expect this from you sweet girl. You’ve already made such a mess on my lap i’m not sure I can continue without your parents asking question when I go downstairs.” His words cause you to whine out loudly and he pulls his fingers out of you completely.

Your eyes widen at the sudden loss of his touch. “N-no please! Satoru I want…I want you to touch me!” Frantically you whisper up to him while frustrated tears fall from your eyes at being neglected.

Satoru smiles at you for a second before licking his fingers clean of your slick. The sight making you squirm and try to close your legs.

“Mm, such a needy thing. I hate to leave you like this but it’s getting so late.” He snickers behind you and you know he’s doing this to prove a point and nothing more. He pulls your legs closer together and lifts you so you’re lying against your pillows. He presses a small kiss against your lips before standing again.

Bully!Satoru who bends down and pockets the panties he ripped off of you previously. “Call me if you have any questions about the work yeah? I’m sure we could set up a study session soon.”

With that he left your room and you heard him say bye to your parents downstairs before the front door closes.

The next day with Bully!Satoru at school who barely looks at you throughout the day and keeps the teasing to a minimum causing you to get frustrated and feel the heat in your panties grow. The purple hickey Satoru had gifted you was covered with makeup the best you could do and occasionally you’d swipe your fingers over the spot.

Bully!Satoru who pulled you aside during lunch and wrangled you into an empty broom closet so he could attack your lips. “Look so pretty today baby. You really should stop staring at me so much or else someone might get the wrong idea. Someone might think you actually enjoy my teasing.”

[hoonieyun]

APT

APT

pairing: sim jaeyun x reader “y/n”

warnings: drinking, kissing, suggestive, overall 18+

genre: friends to lovers, down bad jake, college au

summary: a drinking game with jake leads to more than just shots

word count: 1337

notes: im not going to lie. this song has me in a chokehold. ive also just seen an insane amount of jake edits with this song that i couldn't help but write something LOL anyways as always the lyrics used in this are from "apt" by rosie and bruno mars and all the credit goes to them for this amazing song! (not proofread but who cares not me!)

apateu, apateu, apateu

apateu, apateu, apateu

“six!” jake yells and the two of you begin to stack your hands over one another’s until you reach the 6th hand, yours. “no way! you totally did that on purpose!” you say, shooting jake a glare with a pout; knowing that he was very inclined in math so he probably figured out what number he needed to say to get you to be the one to take the shot. 

“no! i swear!” jake says, smiling at you while throwing his hands up in surrender, his accent thick as ever. you wince at the taste of the alcohol as you take the shot, the small shot glass making a clinking sound as you set it back down on jake’s bedroom floor. 

the two of you were currently sat across from one another in crissedcross position as you played a korean drinking game. one you and jake used to play at the beginning of college whenever the two of you would gather with your friends and drink over the weekend. today, however, was just and jake. it was originally going to be a lot more of you but when you arrived jake told you that everyone ended up cancelling and when you said that you should head home and study instead of drink, jake convinced you to stay. 

you were now about 5 shots in while jake had only taken 2. “that’s not fair, i’ve drank way more than you have.” you complain to jake, a pout still on your face as you refill the shot glass. the scent of the clear liquor finding its way to your noses. 

jake watched you adoringly as you poured the shot, your bottom lip still jutting out, instinctively; he bites down on his own bottom lip as he watches you. “okay, ready?” you ask as you screw the cap back onto the soju bottle and jake nods. a smile on his face as he watches you brush your hair away back, giving him a clear view of your collarbone and neck, now a slight shade of pink because of how much you had drank. 

red hearts red hearts

that’s what i'm on yeah

you and jake once again start the game, repeating the singular word 6 times but now it was your turn to yell out a number. 

“9!” you shout and one by one, you and jake place your hands over one another’s until you reach the number nine. luckily, this time it was jake’s hand, meaning he had to take the shot. you laugh at jake, happy that he finally lost and would take a shot, he smiles at your reaction and picks up the shot glass, bringing it closer to his lips. just as he’s about to take the shot, he stops. 

“y/n, can i tell you something?” he asks and your mouth falls open. “yeah. AFTER you take the shot. you’re not getting out of this one.” you say, bringing your hand up to his and motioning his hand towards his mouth, drinking the shot. small droplets of the soju leak onto your hand and out of jake’s mouth and instictively, you wipe the soju off of his lips. you blink at him a few times after you realize what you just did and jake swore he saw fireworks and sparks fly just from that small gesture. 

“um, okay. here let me fill it up again.” you say, grabbing the shot glass from his hand to refill just so you could move on from the awkward interaction. “wait!” jake says, grabbing your wrist, causing you to look up at him. his eyes shimmering in the light like it held the universe in them. you weren’t sure if it was you or the alcohol but you hadn’t fully realized how handsome jake was, especially tonight. his cheeks slightly red and his hair wasn’t styled but still fell so effortlessly well across his forehead. 

jake on the other hand, hasn’t stopped thinking about how pretty you looked since you walked into his apartment. your hair was tucked behind your ear and you wore that lip gloss that he secretly liked on you. it left your lips looking so pink and plump and he couldn’t help but think of what they tasted like. the lips… not the gloss. 

your lips were a bit bare, the gloss having worn off every time you took a shot, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how soft they still looked. like pillowy clouds.

the two of you were just staring at one another and it happened in a blink of an eye. jake was leaning over to you, softly cupping your face, and bringing you closer to his face. “can i kiss you?” he asks, voice low as he looks down at your lips. you slowly nod, thinking to yourself that jake’s lips have never been more tempting. “use your words, please.” jake says and once again, you nod followed by a soft yes. as soon as the 3 letter word leaves your lips, his are on yours. 

don’t you want me like i want you, baby?

don’t you want me like i need you, baby?

when you and jake pull away from the kiss, although short, it felt like it was a moment that was just waiting to happen. jake pulls away and his eyes slowly flutter open and he sees you, looking up at him with doe eyes, mouth still slightly open. 

“was that ok?” jake says sheepishly. “more than okay.” you say, a smile on your face as jake takes a seat back down. your thumb flies over your mouth as it graves over your lip. you glance over at jake and he’s leaning back on his hands, a smirk on his face. “what are you smiling at?” you ask, teasingly. 

the smile on jake’s lips grow wider as you ask the question. “nothing, i’ve just been waiting to do that for a while now.” he confesses, a surprise to you because your feelings for jake have always been surpress, fearing that it would ruin your friendship and of those around you. 

you slowly stand back up and jake watches your figure make your way over to his spot on the floor. you take a seat on his lap, a bold action that without the alcohol, is something you would’ve never had the courage to do. jake accepts your gesture, tightening his body so that he could carry you on his lap, otherwise; he would’ve melted right into you. wrapping your arms loosely around his neck, you play with his hair a bit, before you say anything. 

“what took you so long then?” you ask and jake could’ve sworn that he could feel his heart beating out of his chest. he’s never felt this around a girl before and quite frankly he hopes that he’ll never feel it with any other girl but you. you lean down and give jake another kiss but to his disdain, the kiss was too short so shifts his weight forward, grabbing your waist with one of his arms as he brings you back closer. connecting your lips once again, this time the kiss is more intense. a type of passion that you had never experienced with any of your previous lovers and hookups. 

a type of feeling that only jake could give you. 

after what felt like you two were kissing for eternity, the two of you pull away to catch your breath. you stare at one another, both of your lips a bit swollen as you try to steady your breathing. suddenly, jake leans forward, grabbing the bottle of soju and pouring another shot. his arm, still wrapped around your waist, holding you steady as he pours the shot. he hands you the small glass as he takes the bottle of the soju for himself. 

“geonbae.” jake says as he takes the shot. you chuckle, finding him cute whenever he says korean words with his australian accent.

-

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

[kisses4reid]

convenient | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - studying while working at a convenience store is easier that thought when a regular happens to be a genius.

genre - fluff, fem!college!reader x earlyseasons!spencer

warnings - school work, that always scares me. they’re the same age!!! early 20s. mention of condoms.

edit - bc this is getting so much love, i’m opening a taglist for part 2!!! just comment or put in a req to join the ‘convenient’ taglist 🫶

the chime of the door didn’t phase you, the creaks and squeaks of the store slowly becoming one with you. flipping onto the next page of your biology textbook, something that was unnecessarily expensive, you shake your hand to get rid of the cramp you slowly became aware of.

it was only when a wave of man’s cologne and a plastic bag stood in front of you that you ripped your eyes off of your books.

he was tall, skinny, had long(ish) hair and looked amazing. there wasn’t really anything else to say, other than that the thin smile he displayed toward you made you smile back.

“just these for today?” you ask, fixing your posture and pushing some loose strands back to their place behind your ears.

“yes, thank you.” he says, voice as timid as his appearance. it was a bag of apples, a 2 minute bolognese container, and a bag of coffee. you scan them, weigh the apples, and watch him as his long fingers slip through his wallet to find a debit card. “have a good night.”

your eyes return to your textbook as you go to erase an answer you had previous written, obviously wrong.

“the heads of the phospholipid bilayer are hydrophilic, not phobic.” he says. it surprised you, making you return to his gaze slowly before realising you should probably reply instead of staring at the man.

“oh- yeah, thanks. i caught that it’s just, i guess i’ve been staring at the same words for so long i can’t differentiate them.” you give a small fake laugh as he nods, giving you a long look before coughing and leaving promptly. he leaves with his bag, and his hands fiddling with each other.

you can barely focus after that. customers come and go, and although you’ve only been doing the late shift for a week, this encounter with the unknown man couldn’t leave your mind. the way he dressed, his smell, his voice and how he corrected you (which would totally annoy you usually). you hoped he would return.

and he did. three days later, this time even later than the last.

you were stuck in a dark purple sweater, the aircon in the store blasting cold air that you were too lazy to fix. and although the air flipped pages of notes and questions, you were still stuck in a trance.

the blasting aircon blew a wind of mens cologne this time, it smelt like wood. your eyes glanced up from your books and trailed the familiar man, noticing how he was reusing the plastic bag from days before.

he returned to the checkout with apples, a 3 minute cannelloni, and a bag of coffee. he was now the one trailing you, “where did Latrice go?” you look up, chuckling a bit,

“Latrice is getting paid by her daughter-in-law to babysit the twins,” you reply, surprised you were willing to tell him so much information. he could be a stalker for all you know. or just a regular, obviously that’s way more likely. “trust me, i miss her as much as you do. $14.98.”

he nodded with a small smile and sliced his card down the side of the card reader.

you searched for him now, only after two encounters you were already craving some sort of human interaction at work. usually you avoided it since the only other ‘regulars’ were old men and mean teenagers. you had switched to writing a biology report on your computer, the sound of the keyboard almost covering the sound of the door bell.

a bag of apples, a 2 minute lasagne, a bag of coffee, and a banana muffin.

“big night?”

“uh- what?”

“you got a banana muffin. i thought you were starting to become predictable.” you bagged his things as he chuckled, looking over you and your laptop. you noticed only because you were also looking at him, “biology report. wanna read it?” you joked, but he didn’t catch that part.

now he was behind the register, sat on your wheelie stool reading and editing your report while walking you through everything he was changing. you didn’t understand most, but you were just happy to stay around him. you weren’t even scared of Old Alan, the guy who only buys cucumbers and condoms. nobodies ever asked him, don’t think anyone wants to know.

“what’s your word limit?”

“3500.”

“only 3500?” he gave you a raised eyebrow, voice getting slightly higher. he coughed, “sorry, that’s nearly impossible.”

you sigh, “i know… i’m y/n by the way. thought you should know who your helping cheat.”

“i’m not helping you cheat, i’m just… editing,” he hit backspace a few times with a lowered bottom lip, “my names spencer.”

you smiled and crossed your arms as you leaned against the counter. spencer. yeah, that sounded nerdy enough.

pt. 2

[nereidprinc3ss]

hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup. 

“Please, stop apologizing.” 

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses. 

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...” 

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.” 

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.” 

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.” 

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.  

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?” 

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks. 

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.” 

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.  

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.” 

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat. 

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.” 

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.” 

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically. 

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box. 

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap. 

Says Spencer Reid? 

“...sorry?” 

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself. 

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”  

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.” 

He swallows and nods. 

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.  

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.” 

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.” 

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.” 

But you're not crying because he was nice.  

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear. 

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks. 

“I meant every word.” 

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say. 

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.” 

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending. 

“Had?” 

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart. 

“Yeah. You know what changed?” 

“What’s that?” 

Absolutely nothing. 

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.” 

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes. 

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?” 

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.” 

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?” 

You sniff, looking to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.” 

More silence. 

“But you don’t believe it.” 

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you. 

“I don’t know.  I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.” 

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head. 

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?” 

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.  

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him. 

“What?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.” 

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.” 

“That’s... that’s not how I know.” 

Your heart drops as you study his face.  

No. 

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. 

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be. 

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.” 

“What are you doing? Don’t--” 

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks. 

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—” 

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks 

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?” 

With nothing left to give, you turn to him. 

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.” 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.” 

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

“You... you like me?” 

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—” 

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—” 

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.” 

“You said you used to like me, past tense—” 

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?” 

“No, but—” 

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?” 

“Of course I have.” 

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?” 

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.  

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks. 

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.” 

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is. 

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face. 

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.” 

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes. 

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.” 

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine. 

“I do.” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway. 

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to. 

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?” 

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing. 

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.” 

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again. 

------------------------------------------ 

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought. 

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes. 

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!” 

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.” 

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.” 

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.” 

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention. 

“Spencer?” 

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought. 

“What does pulchritude mean?” 

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

And so you let it float away. 

[luvyeni]

ANGEL OF MINE ,, 박성훈

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ criminal!sunghoon x fem!reader wc. 4k

genre. smut

🦢◞ includes ... public sex, unprotected sex, oral ( m & f receiving ), car sex

「 authors note 𖹭 」 this was a prison break fic , but i ended up changing and just did criminal hoon!

❪ masterlist! ❫

most people could say you met sunghoon in the worst possible place possible; but growing up, your mother always told you that as long as you love each other it shouldn't matter where you meet the love of your life — except your mother didn't mean a prison like how you met sunghoon.

at first you thought it was odd; you were a well established college student, jobs lining up for you after graduation all thanks to your dads connections, many suitors waiting for you to finish your studies with the hope of marriage after graduation; even though you had no interest, a group of friends, much like you; and the best part, more money you could ever dream of… so the whole penpal thing was odd to you; why would you talk to some random person who is in prison nonetheless? that was until you started talking to sunghoon.

sunghoon was used to prison; he'd been there before, many times before and it's the same thing everytime, he'd try to keep his head down— he always failed , outside of prison he'd made a lot of enemies , so he did end up knocking a few heads around and he ended up spending the rest of his sentence in solitary confinement. this time he fucked up and he was facing a longer sentence; a much longer sentence. that was until he received a letter from you; little precious you, his saving grace.

the first letter was the just the introduction; and that was all he needed to become obsessed with you; he knew what you looked like because you sent him a photo , he also knew you weren't old cat lady; you were college student, he would've been a college student too, had he not taken the other route. he also knew that although you were extremely book smart; you were innocent in so many ways, and sunghoon loved that; he didn't need your money, he just needed your love and devotion.

by the fourth letter you were already telling him you'd wait for him and when could you see him; at first he told you a sweet thing like you didn't need to come to such a bad place and that all you had to do was be a good girl and wait for him.

by the sixth letter you were telling him you can't wait to see him and that you'd be there that next weekend; and for the first time ever since he'd been to prison, he was happy.

“park!” the guard yelled, making direct eye contact with him as he banged on the gate. “i can't fucking see you.” the boy hissed. “yeah well , get up.” he stood from his bed in his single cell; that he got after he went through the entire cell block of cell mates; everyone was too scared to share with him. “you got a visitor.” he said flatly as they opened the gate , they dragged him out of his cell and down the hall. “let's go.”

you nervously picked at your skirt; your mother bought it from her travels in some glamours country, maybe you should've worn jeans , would he like this? would he like your makeup? would he like you? for the past week that was all on your mind, sunghoon, this was your first time meeting him so your stomach was churning as you were waiting for him. “angel?”

you turned around to face the boy; the man who'd you think whenever you had free time, you no longer went out with your friends , instead you stayed home and waited for his call , writing multiple letters to, you were obsessed with him. “sunghoon.”

he sat down in front of you, taking in your outfit. “nice outfit angel, you wore that just for me?” he smirked. “do you like it?” you asked, waiting for his approval. “of course i do, finally something pretty to look at in this ugly fucking place.” you cringed at his foul language. “sunghoon, language.” he threw his hands up. “sorry angel.” you nodded. “it's nice to finally meet you in person.”

“angel i have thought about this day since the first time you sent me a letter with that pretty face of yours.” he surely had his way in charming you. “you’re too cute angel , what are you doing here?” you shrugged shyly , you definitely didn't belong here , but you wanted to be here , you want to be here with him. “i like you, i guess.” he smirked. “yeah?” turning around looking for the guard who was barely paying attention. “come closer then.” you nervously leaned in , your elbows now on the table. “good girl.”

“how much do you like me?” he said, his hand slipping under the table. “would you still like me if i tell you what i did?” he asked, hand now on your knee. “what if i killed someone?” your eyes widened. “you didn't, did you?” he chuckled , rubbing your knee. “no angel, no one died.” fortunately for him. “but i did hurt some people real bad,” he said. “not like they didn't deserve it angel.”

“what did they do?” you asked, voice shaking as his hand crept up your skirt. “don't worry about that right now angel.” he said, you nodded. “you still like me?” you nodded. “good.” he smiled , his hand cupping your clothes mound , you turn around nervously looking for the guard. “trust me dove they aren't worried about us.” he ran his finger up your slit. “you're dripping baby, you got this wet for little ole me?” he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. “sunghoon.” you whimpered , he put his finger to his lips.

“you gotta be real quiet angel , we can get in real big trouble if they catch us.”

he pushed a finger in, you bit your lip hard to conceal a moan. “look at you all cute , trying not to moan , if these guards weren't here i would take you right here , make you cum with my cock and not my fingers.” he added another, curling them inside you. “you wanna cum on my cock?” you nodded , your bottom lip was bleeding a little from biting it. “y-yes.” you whined. “i do.”

“when i get outta here dove , i promise, i'll make you cum as many times as this little pussy can give me.” you gasped , “sunghoon , i'm gonna cum.” you whispered , you wanted to kiss his perfectly plump lips , he was right in front of you , but you couldn't because of the guard who was standing a few feet away. “go ahead cum for me angel , our time is almost up.” your mouth dropped open , a silent moan came out of your mouth , as you came , he talked you through your orgasm , before pulling his fingers out of you. “he's coming over angel.”

“sorry miss time is up.” the guard said. “get up park.” they yanked him up. “see you angel , wait for me yeah?” you saw him bringing his fingers to his mouth as they dragged him away.

after that day all you could think about is sunghoon; not like it wasn't any different from before, but now you knew how he could make you feel; the way he talked to you about what he wanted to do to you when he got out; when he got out , that was the hard part, you didn't know the full details of his case , just that he was involved in some bad stuff and he ended up getting into a fight with a few guys and lets just say he came out looking a lot better than they did, and now he's sitting in a prison for maybe the next 3-5 years.

“what if i help you out?” you sat across from him the next visit. “what do you mean angel?” you shrugged. “help get you out of here?” he laughed, leaning forward. “angel i think you're watching way too much tv , it's not as easy as you think , to break someone out of prison.” you laughed , something he loved to hear , it was the only thing that kept him from going insane. “i didn't mean that silly.” he tilted his head to the side , his eyebrows lifting up in interest. “then what angel?”

“well daddy knows some people , in some high places.” you said , he folded his arms. “and maybe if i butter him up just enough, i could maybe get him to talk to some of these people.” he wasn't about to jump for joy, he didn't really want to have to owe your father one. “angel , your father is gonna take one look at my rap sheet and demand that those people keep me locked up just to keep me away from you.” he laughed. “i’m not necessarily a good guy.” he said.

“not if i butter him up first; buy him a new watch, get the chef to cook him his favorite food , tell him how much i love him , tell him that you'll do better if they just give you another shot.” at that moment sunghoon realized two things besides you being the cutest thing to ever grace his presence; 1. you were way more wealthy than he thought, and 2. your love and devotion to him could help him in the future. “angel you know that last thing isn't gonna happen.”

you pouted; of course you knew that. “well yeah, and although i'm not too happy with that, i want you out of here.” you whined , he smirked. “yeah and why is that?” you shied away. “because.” he leaned forward. “why angel?” you bit your lip , thinking about your previous visit. “is my precious angel thinking about dirty things?” you shook your head. “n-no.” but he wasn't buying it. “i think you are.” his words were now whispered. “want to me to fuck that little cunt so bad you're willing to do anything to get me out of here?” you nodded. “then go ahead angel , get me outta here.”

…

you knocked on the door of your father's study; you heard a muffled come in , before pushing the door open. “hi daddy.” you skipped into the room. “and i know that skip from anywhere, how much you need?” you pouted , sitting in the seat across from him. “actually i got you a gift.” you held out the small rolex bag. “a watch?”

“just a little gift to show my love, i also had the chef make your favorite; so if you'll just follow me.” you both made your way to the table. “this looks good doesn't it?” you sat down next to him , the chef leaving you both after you thank him.

“so.” you father finally spoke up. “you get me this expensive watch; pretty sure i’ll be getting the invoice on that soon.” you smiled. “you get them to make my favorite food , thousand and one compliments , i know what this means.” he said. “you want something , what is it princess?”

you sighed , you prayed for this to work. “you sure?” he laughed. “anything you want , you shall have , after this perfect night.” you decided to give it a go. “well you know that i've made a new friend.” you started , he moved in his seat; coughing uncomfortably, he was aware of your relationship with the prisoner, and he wasn't fine with it , but you were an adult and he couldn't stop you. “you know how i feel about that sweetheart.”

“i know and that's why you know i would never come to you unless i really needed to.” you said. “did he do something to you?” you shook your head. “of course not , he's a good boy.” your father scoffed. “he's a prisoner.” he took a sip of his whiskey. “daddy listen.” you held his hand. “please just help me get him out.”

“absolutely not.” he said , you whined. “he's a criminal yn! not once or twice; he's been in and since he was in highschool.” your eyes widened. “you checked his record?”

“of course i did , you know he's in there this time 3-5 years for assault with a deadly weapon, he almost killed two people.” well you didn't know that much. “he said they deserved it , they hit him first.” you defended him. “he has anger issues.” he said. “daddy he said he'd change , he promised.” you'd cross that bridge when you got there , you doubted he was gonna change. “you think he's telling the truth?”

“just ask?” you said , the best desperate face you can make; once you heard your father sigh , you had to force the smile down. “i'll make some calls and let you know what we can do for him.” you couldn't wait to tell sunghoon. “this is the only time i'll help him , he fucks up again and i'll make sure he gets the maximum.”

…

sunghoon was losing his mind in his cell; he needed you, he missed you , fuck that little taste he had of you in the visiting room — he couldn't think about anything other than that; you were better than any drug or alcohol he's ever tried. “park.” the guard banged on the cell. “get up!”

he grunted , getting up from his hard bed. “where to today paul?” the guard grunted , opening the gate. “let's go.” he was confused, his next visit with you wasn't scheduled until the following week , and it's not like his friends could just show up and visit him — most of them were probably supposed to be here right with him , so it couldn't be them and his family; those asshole completely washed their hands of him in the first place. “where are we going?”

he knew this route; he'd seen it many times before, but what he couldn't understand is why he was taking this route. “i know you dirty C.O’s like to play jokes , but this one is about to piss me off.” the cop threw him into the room. “asshole.” he growled. “undress.” the guard said. “you're going home.” he was confused. “what?”

you waited excitedly outside of your car, the driver waiting inside; you bounced as you heard the gates opening , the raven haired boy walked through the gate. “yn?” you took off, running straight into his arm. “it worked!” you laughed. “what worked angel , im so confused right now.” he said , you didn't answer him , instead you wrapped your arms around his shoulders , kissing him; you finally got to kiss the man you'd been talking to for the past 6 months. “my dad , he actually helped.” you pulled away. “you really talked to him?”

“mhm , he knows the judge assigned to your case, i asked him to put in a good word for you.” he grabbed the sides of your face. “this time , try not to get in trouble or at least don't get caught this time.” you slapped his chest. “angel.” he kissed you , holding you close; his tongue swiping across your lip , he nibbled down on , you moaned. “there goes those pretty noises.”

“is there someone in that front seat?” he asked. “my driver of course.” you said like it was normal. “angel , does that driver ask questions?” he smirked. “no , why?” you questioned. “because i can't wait until we get somewhere private.” he grabbed your hand , you smiled. “let's go , i never want to see this place for a long time at least.” you glared at him. “again angel , i meant again.”

you opened the car door; climbing inside grabbed your leg, flipping you over closing the door. “mrs?” your driver said , sunghoon was working his way down your neck , wrapping your legs around his waist. “my-my house.” you whimpered , neither one of you caring about the man in front. “don't you live with your family?”

“i have my own apartment.” he smirked , lifting your shirt over your head , you both were so into it , his shirt coming off , along with your panties , bunching your skirt up. “should i thank you angel?” he kissed your stomach , “eat your pretty pussy for getting me out of that hell hole?” you moaned out nodding. “pl-please.”

lifted your legs over his shoulders; your cunt on display. “so pretty baby , been thinking of tasting this pussy ever since that day in the visiting room. he kissed your cunt , licking a strip up your cunt. “so good baby.” you moaned out. “sunghoon.” he held your waist down , lapping at your cunt over and over , your hand coming up to his hair , the other one hitting the back of the seat. “su-sunghoon , im gonna cum.”

you groaned, feeling your grip his hair , cumming right into his mouth. “fuck angel.” he pulled away , letting out a dry laugh. “you taste so fucking good.” he moaned out , your taste alone made him go crazy , crazy enough he was willing to give up everything just to keep tasting you. “angel i need to fuck you now.”

luckily for the driver he pulled into your apartment complex right before sunghoon was about to take his pants off. “we're here miss.” sunghoon turned to you. “we've waited 6 months angel , i'm sure you can wait 5 minutes?” he handed you the shirt you were wearing. “get dressed for me love.”

you thanked the driver, sunghoon helping you out of the car. “wait dove.” he reached back into the vehicle. “you forgot this?” he smirked , pulling out your underwear, your ears heated up and you shied away. “oh angel , you let me finger you in front of 20 other prisoners and eat you out in front of your personal driver, i think it's time we drop this innocent girl act.” he pulled you close to him. “cause when we get up to that fancy apartment of yours , im gonna fuck you like the slut i know you are.”

the ride up to your apartment was innocent , sunghoons hand was under your skirt , toying with your clit. “pretty pussy is dripping , begging to be stretched out.” you moaned. “su-sunghoon the door is about to open.”

you finally reached your apartment; it was bigger than anything sunghoon would probably see in his life , but that wasn't his main focus as you guided him to your bedroom. “i wanna give you something.” you led him to your bed. “a welcome home gift.” you took your shirt off , sinking down to your knees. “you wanna suck me off angel?” you nodded , he cursed; you looked up at him with such innocent eyes , even though the current position is not so innocent. “naughty girl.” he smirked.

lifting his hips up, pushing his pants down to his ankles , the air hitting his leaky cock; he groaned. “come on angel , suck on it.” he guided your mouth to his cock. “open wide angel.” he guided your head down on his cock , he moaned , it had been a while , and you were working his cock like magic , your tongue running along his length. “fuck dove , i-i'm started to think you've done this before.”

“angel can you go deeper for me?” you hummed around him , vibrations making his eyes roll to the back of his head “shiiiiit , shit i'm gonna cum.” his hand came to the back of your head , pushing your head down. “fuck im cumming.”

he gasped letting your head go as he filled your mouth , spit dribbling down your chin along with his cum. “good girl , taking my cum like that.” you smiled , teary eyed.

he could've have gotten you on the bed quick enough, pushing your legs open , your cunt already bare for him. “you ready for me dove?” his hard length already prodding at your entrance. “pl-please fuck me hoon.” you felt his cock enter your body , you shut your eyes , hissing at the stretch. “to-too big.”

“i know , but you can take it angel.” he kissed your forehead , moving in and out of you. “good girl , take my cock.” he groaned , speeding up , your tits bouncing back and force. “been dreaming bout this cunt since the first time you came and visited me , remember dove?” his cock was now abusing your cervix. “you took my fingers during our first meeting.” you moaned and nodded. “i-it felt good.”

“i bet it did baby , that's how i knew right then and there you were mine.” he moaned. “my perfect angel just to turn into my perfect slut , just for me to fuck -shit- isn't that right?” you nodded. “a good girl letting a bad guy like me ruin you for other men , you like that don't you?” he rubbed your clit. “all mine right?”

“al-all yours , pl-please sunghoon.” you moaned out , the headboard banging against the wall. “I'm gonna cum.” your cunt fluttering around him. “yeah? gonna cum all over my cock?” you dumbly nodded. “go ahead angel , cream my cock baby for me.” his pace didn't falter , his thrust deeper even as you came. “fuck that's a good girl , came so much for me -fuck- im gonna cum dove, where do you want it.”

“i-inside , pl-please cum inside me.” you were gonna be the death of him. “fuck baby , such a perfect pussy.” he groaned. “fuck im gonna cum.” his hips began to falter , he was losing it. “sh-shit , gonna cum inside you angel.” he let out a loud moan , cumming. “fuck!” he cursed , emptying himself inside you. “perfect angel , perfect.” he slowly stopped trusting, pulling out of you , his cock resting on your abused cunt. “good girl.”

“you can stay here.” you said as you both laid in bed. “and do what? wait around for you all day?” he scoffed , his arm around you. “if you get in trouble i won't be able to help again.” you pouted , he smirked. “then i won't get in trouble this time.” you frowned. “i'm serious.” you said. “listen dove, if it makes you feel any better; i'll come back here every night , and hold you just like this.” he kissed the side of your head , because he really did want to be with you , but giving up this life he was so used to wasn't gonna be easy. “what about in the morning?”

“i’ll be right here to wake my pretty angel up by eating her pretty pussy.”

©LUVYENI

[hitomisuzuya]

Kunikuzushi (Scaramouche) x fem! reader. Smut. Cunnilingus. Kunikuzushi giving. One brief mention of killing. Yandere! Kunikuzushi. Mention of bondage.

This is by no means written sober lol. I just wanted to write about Scara as Kuni for awhile, mainly discovering eating out for the first time. I saw fics going around like this and wanted to write one of my own.

Kunikuzushi made it a habit to study human nature. He was a people watcher. Inevitably, he heard sex discussed one day between two drunk blacksmiths. However, instead of asking about it, he preferred to read about it. He found out a lot of things that took him awhile to process, but ultimately filed it away in the back of his mind as basic human knowledge.

He didn't have any use for it until he met you.

Kunikuzushi didn't exactly know when he started to spend all his free time with you. But the more time went by, the more he started to notice certain little things about you. The way your hips swayed when you walked. The way you always smelled so good. How soothing it was to listen to the sound of your voice. The way your fingers moved when you did things.

While indulging tea way too sweet for his liking, Kunikuzushi overheard that same two drunk blacksmiths talking about oral sex. He listened with his head cocked, listening to them talk about how good it could taste and how good it was to feel pussy clenched around the tongue.

Later, he went and read about it. He even found light novels from Yae Publishing House, or books from merchants that had detailed descriptions in it. He read about all kinds of things, like squirting and different things he could do with tongue or fingers.

The more he read about, the more thoughts of doing those things to you flooded his mind. He would even dare say it consumed him. Late into the night, he would fist his cock and think about eating you out. He swore he couldn't have pumped enough cum onto his hands to abate the thoughts.

One day, Kunikuzushi got up the nerve to ask you about it. And you were already in the perfect position: on your back on your bed, listening to him talk about how sickeningly sweet he thought the tea had been today.

"Do you know what oral sex is? He asked abruptly, looking at you hesitantly in anticipation for how you would respond.

You were silent for a moment, your cheeks flushing in a way he'd always found adorable. He could tell you were contemplating the best way to explain it to him. "Yeah, I know what it is. It's where someone uses their mouth on their partner between their legs to make them feel good," You fidgeted with your fingers as you talked.

Were you..flustered about him asking? Kunikuzushi decided to press you further. He didn't know how else to ask other than being straightforward. He wondered if anyone had ever done it to you. He secretly hoped no one had.

Kunikuzushi wanted to have you all to himself. In every way. The thought of anyone else having your thighs squeezed around their head while you whimpered that you were cumming made him want to squeeze his hands around their throat until their eyes popped out of their sockets.

This, he gathered, must be jealousy.

"Has anyone gone down on you?" The blunt question blindsided you. Your cheeks flushed darker as you shook your head. "No, I haven't," He was delighted at how flustered and shy you looked. Studying human behavior told him that you'd fantasized about it before. Did he dare think that right at this moment, you were thinking about him eating you out?

Kunikuzushi didn't know if he could he bring himself to tell you that one time, he'd spied on you fingering yourself and rubbing your clit. He'd practically drooled, quietly panting as he watched your fingers pump desperately in and out of your hole. He'd palmed his cock with a trembling hand, listening to you moan and sigh.

"Can I go down on you? When I think about it, I get really hard," He responded, further throwing you for a loop. You suddenly wondered where he had learned to talk like this. He hoped that you'd been thinking about him while you fingered yourself that night. His cock had pulsed almost painfully hearing you whimpering that you couldn't cum, your lower lip pulled between your teeth as you rubbed and pinched your clit.

"S-Sure," You said, and Kunikuzushi swore that if he had a human heart, it would be beating right out of his chest. It overwhelmed him sometimes how strongly he could feel what classified as human emotions to him. You drove him to feel this way. He'd long since given up trying to fight it.

He got up and crawled onto your bed, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss as he crawled on top of you. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. He'd more than gotten ahead of himself a few times, his hands groping on your body while he pinned you underneath him or against the wall while he devoured your mouth with his.

Kunikuzushi had stopped apologizing for it after the second or third time. It has only spurred him on to do it more frequently when you showed you liked it, moving into his touches and pressing your body up against his.

He would never force himself on you, and now that you'd give him complete verbal permission instead of physical actions, he was less hesitant and more eager. His hands clumsily pawed at your clothes, his fingers shaking as he took your panties off last and spread your legs.

Kunikuzushi licked his lips as he parted the folds of your cunt with his hand. It looked pink, and soft, already damp in response to his hands groping on your body. The pads of his fingers rubbed on your clit, sweeping down to trace lines up and down on your cunt.

Your thighs felt soft as he groped and ghosted his wet fingers on the sensitive skin close to your cunt. Leaning down, his teeth nipped and sucked at your flesh, busying his fingers on your pussy again. He was eager to see how wet he could make you while he bit and sucked possessive bruises, his tongue prodding soothingly on the inflamed skin.

Your breaths started to come out shakily, your clit throbbing as his fingers circled and rubbed, sweeping down to circle your hole, rapidly soaking your juices on his skin. Your body was starting twitch in response, and that was what he wanted.

Your body was tensing in anticipation of his strokes. You were starting to crave him. To want him. And he latched onto that like a rabid dog with its jaws around a human limb.

Kunikuzushi decided it was time. His tongue swept out to trace the shape of your puffy pussy. His body tingled, your taste assaulting his tongue. His tongue drug slowly across your clit. He indulged in the texture of your cunt on his tongue, slowly prodding and swirling the tip around and around.

He vibrated moan on your pussy. Now he understood what the blacksmiths meant by pussy tasting good. Soft whines and moans keened from your parted lips, your hips grinding up against his mouth.

Kunikuzushi scooped your clit into his mouth to suck on. He was fascinated by the responses from your body. Your stomach started to twitch, your legs started to shake as louder moans sounded from you.

"Good girl," He moaned, making your back arch off the bed. He was focused on your every noise and every twitch as you started to writhe, your hips squirming and bucking into his mouth. His eyes rolled closed in bliss as he swept his tongue inside of you. Your hands found the back of his head, pressing his face down onto your cunt as you grinded into his mouth. "I can taste you better that way."

"Ah, Archons! Kuni," You cried out. Your hands tightened on his head, tugging at his hair as you held his face against your pussy. He was dragging his tongue in slow circles around your clit again. You gasped, your clit throbbing as your cunt clenched around nothing.

Kunikuzushi looked up at you, his eyes hazy and glassy with lust. You were crying out to the Archons, but you hadn't named one. Was he your God in this moment?

His tongue felt like it was exploring inside of you, swirling and lapping between your walls. He focused his tongue when your cunt clenched around him. He didn't think he'd ever tasted something so soft and desirably sweet.

The pleasure was dizzying, your orgasm building up tight in your core. You shivered as you writhed, his hands caressing your hips as he held your cunt against his mouth. He vibrated grunt on your clit, whimpering in bliss as drool pool down your pussy.

Kunikuzushi didn't notice he was whining and rutting against your mattress until cum spurted inside his pants. He was so carried away listening to your moans and broken whimpers, his body shaking as he held your hips down on the mattress.

"Cum for me, I need to taste it," Moaning, he latched his lips around your clit. He focused his sucks, swirling his tongue greedily. Your fingernails dug into the back of his scalp as your orgasm broke over you.

The way you clenched around his tongue as he lapped your release, ravenously tongue fucking you through your orgasm was intoxicating to him. He became addicted to that feeling.

After that, it became routine for Kunikuzushi to spend hours between your legs. He was breaking you slowly with his mouth. He was only growing more insatiable. Soon it would be with his fingers. And then his cock.

His thoughts were already swirling of burying his cock and fingers inside of you. You were starting to beg him to cum, which was perfect to him because he'd read about what bondage was. How exhilarating it would be for him to tie you up while he ate you out.

[satoruhour]

i need jealous racer geto hes js so whudurieiw and the way u write about himm🤭🤭

LUVRGIRL

a/n: eeuuughh idk whether to like this or not but enjoy nonetheless !!! not so much of racing but the sentiment is there lol. previous part (lloromannic) here / @screampied @kizoken @t4kio @redskyvenus @mysugu @suguruplsr @slttygeto ✶

wc: 6.3k

warnings: racer!geto, soft dom!geto, fem!reader, sprinkle of fluff, pet names, praise, ldr, phone sex, masturbation (both f and m), fantasising, daisuke is being annoying again!!!!, sorta jealousy plot point, brief dry humping, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, fingering, unprotected p -> v sex, breeding / creampie kink, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

the next six months were torture, indefinitely. it was an endless heap of assignments, of deadlines, of long-distance calls with your love that you both were so close to booking flights of your own. university was brutal, too. on top of tuition fees and getting the materials for your classes, it was heart-wrenching to even look at the prices of the flights from your country to japan, so you bit down your pride and subjected yourself to settling for the long-distance arrangement.

“hey, baby,” geto mumbles sleepily and your frown deepens upon forgetting that tuesdays was where he slept early. you still had to call, though, but you realise it too late when he answers with that groggy, raspy voice of his. there’s some ruffling behind the call, no doubt the sounds of his bedsheets as he gets himself comfortable while you huddle at the small nook of your room that’s next to the window.

from here you can see the sun setting, a totally different story in japan where you can hear geto yawn and down a glass of water next to his bed.

“shit . . sorry su, i forgot—”

he scrambles to reassure you, awake and sat up, “no! no— no, it’s okay . .” you wince when you hear him yawn yet again, but this time he sounds a little more in the realm of consciousness. you’re unaware of the smile forming on his face just from hearing your voice, fidgety fingers squeezing and releasing the duvet over him, “what are you up to, my love?”

you hum into the phone and you’ve never wanted to backpack across the seven seas to see someone so bad before. now on month nine, your excitement’s become even more prominent at wanting to end the semester as soon as possible, willing your lips not to mutter out the arrangement you’ve been planning with his group of friends.

“just needed a break from studying for finals. i’m dying,” you lament over the line and your heart flutters at his chuckle, something you miss against your ears and skin immensely, “just wish you were here . .”

“yeah?” and you have to squeeze your eyes shut and rub your thighs together at the soft, rough yeah he mumbles out. you can imagine it too: sitting against his headboard half-naked while the duvet pools around his waist area. he’s sitting there like plaster sculpted by Monti while his hair flows around him. you almost squeal and your boyfriend only catches just the start of it.

“what? what was that?” he asks and your hand is clasped so hard over your mouth like a captor’s got your hostage, but you only let out a breath.

“n-nothing,” you laugh, picking yourself up from the nook and getting yourself comfortable in bed. it’s been a long day of studying, anyway, and your next exam isn’t until five days later. you could afford some downtime, right?

“but,” you sigh, turning on your side and sneakily slipping a hand into your pants, “my day’s boring. it’s all studyin’. why don’t you tell me what you did today, instead?” you can hear your parents already preparing dinner outside, but you press on and try to drain out the intrusive noises of cutlery and porcelain and the incessant calls of your mom to your dad for some help on the stove. 

“alright,” he drags the word out and laughs again, getting comfortable in his bed just like you do, but your end goals are entirely different, “but it is pretty boring as well. it was maintenance day today.”

“oh!” you remember him briefly mentioning that the other day — since halloween was approaching, there was bound to be more patrolling policemen around the streets and underground, so races had to be put on hold for the meantime. there was still other more secluded areas to race, but geto didn’t want to risk his Mazda being taken away nor for a stain to appear on his clean academic record.

“changing the crankshaft? i know the old one was giving you loads of trouble,” you mumble, feeling your cunt pulse and throb from the breathing you can hear over the line, “among . . other things.”

“yeah, my baby’s so smart for remembering, huh?” he praises, continuing to go on about his day. while it was merely taking-care-of-his-car day, it was still way more eventful than yours. he had went on a solo day out to your beloved café to relish in the good times, he had hung out with gojo for a while and drank some beer atop the mountain they frequented, even went out for some arcade fun.

“unfortunately—” geto’s low voice spurs you on. you’ve been lazily rubbing at your pussy, just humming into the phone while you only descend more and more into pleasure, “it’s taken a hole out of my allowance, i guess. my dad’s more generous with the parts that he gives me but at the same time i feel like he knows what i’m doing underground.”

he laughs and you fake a giggle, but your breaths are starting to get heavier with each sentence he utters, mind filling with flashbacks of how many ways he’s bent you over to fuck you, drunk on the phantom-like winds upon your ear that sound like he’s whispering all those filthy things to you. “and . . just missin’ my girl.”

“how’ve you been, baby?” he asks with a low voice, like he knows what you’re doing and the term of possession only has you sucking in a breath, fingers slip inside you after possibly a decade of teasing and you find it hard to answer. “darling?”

“y-yeah, ’m still here,” you pant out, afraid of being caught, but your voice quivers enough just for geto to catch on to what you were up to. he didn’t fault you, though (he never blames his girl), but there is a small smirk that forms on his face. he purposely lowers his voice even more, if it was possible, mirroring and mimicking your breathy tone when talking to him.

but with one hand that goes down to his pelvis, he doesn’t have to mimic you at all, hand palming languidly at his bulge. in the dead of the night, there wasn’t much need to keep his voice down in order to hear the pretty moans falling from your mouth; he does anyway.

it’s too shitty of a reception especially with your nokia’s, so he hears the artificial, metallic-like voice coming from his phone, but your sounds are just too lovely, transcending the robotic-ness of a phone call. and it’s like you’re actually there, smiling mischievously at him while stroking his cock and teasing him the way he liked to be teased.

“s-sugu?” you mumble, mind heading into the extremes and confident now that he’s just weirded out and silent, but it’s anything but that.

“yes, baby?” he hums, smiling to himself when he hears rustling over the phone and he can imagine you lifting your hips to remove your panties, tossing it somewhere across the room. “wanna tell me what you’re doin’?” 

you suck in a breath — so he knows — but suguru always knows everything so you’re whining into the receiver, pleasantly surprised when he replies with a deep groan that only makes you clench around nothing.

“that’s right . .” he drawls and you hear a soft thud over the line, and now you’re the one quieting your movements just to hear your boyfriend, the faint shlick shlick sounds of his hand along his cock. geto gasps when he squeezes his tip just like how you do it, pre-cum starting to leak. “need you h-here, doll . .”

you mewl softly and start the hand on your clit again, abandoning the tight hold around your phone just so you can use the other to slip your fingers into your warm cunt. it doesn’t even compare to the thickness and length of geto’s dick, but you have to work with what you have. with head turned toward the speaker, your boyfriend has gone non-verbal, too, moaning like a slut into the receiver.

“suguru, i’m— please . .” you whine softly, hips bucking into your hands, “doesn’t feel as g— good.”

geto coos inwardly at your needy voice, mouth falling open at his rock hard cock. it’s so hard that it hurts, left to merely fuck his fleshlight whenever he could and use his hand on other days. he missed your sweet fucking pussy so, so much, just picturing your beautiful arched back that lifts off the sheets and your shaking thighs. he imagines your perfect pout on your face as you finger yourself, unsatisfied, obviously, begging him with tugs to his hands and his eyes flutter close.

“i know, baby, and ’m sorry,” he mumbles, taking the nokia from his ear to put it right up to his relentless pumping and you swallow, the slick, wet sounds more clear now. “but you hear what ya do t’me, don’t you?”

“mhm . .” you trail off, thinking of his fat cock impaling you instead, and you follow his actions to a T, bringing it right to your sopping cunt and geto has to scrunch his already shut eyes just to wish that his hand was your pussy. your hand is getting tired, he’s sure, but you finger yourself so prettily his hand easily speeds up, giving his shaft periodic squeezes.

“so wet, suguu . .” you drag out his name, already feeling your high approach soon, but you want the both of you to cum together. “i miss you stretchin’ me out . .” a hiss from suguru, “i miss your cum spilling out of me.”

that has geto choking out a whine, “f—fuck, sweetheart, don’t say that. i do miss g-giving you all of my cum—”

the filthiness of everything contributes to all your senses, parents omitted from memory, your finals at the back of your mind and only focusing on the envelope that resides on your bedside table containing a plane ticket. in one week you’d be able to see him again — a sweet treat given to you by gojo and nanami with their combined expenses.

you didn’t even know how you could thank them and while nanami waves you off for any payback, gojo did say you could treat him to anything in that café. it was difficult not to be excited, a louder whine drawn from your throat again and he laughs breathlessly, voice down low and distraught.

“any particular reason w-why my girl’s so needy lately—?”

geto basically chokes out his question while you shake your head until you remember that he can’t see you, answering with a broken “no”.

you resist the urge to spill on the exact reason — your mind spiralling from the anticipation of meeting him, the many, many lewd memories you’ve made over six months, his just-woken-up voice — because he’d never let you live it down.

“c-close, suguru—” your thighs are squeezed tight around your tired hand, sensitive from the immense overstimulation, “’m g’nna cum soon—!”

“me too, my love,” geto’s eyes are back open, trained on his cock and watching the sheer neediness shown in his weeping tip and bucking hips. he needs this, he needs you, and once you’re submitting your final paper, he’s sure to look at flights right to your doorstep.

“i’m c—” you’re whining out, body totally turned over and lying on your stomach as you chase your high, fuelled by the deep guttural groans of your boyfriend. your lips and mind are only filled with suguru, suguru, suguru, not even caring that your sheets are soaked and your fingers are cramping.

“baby, baby, baaaby . . s—shit—” geto reaches his release first, mind filled with replenished memories of your tight pussy hugging his cock, spurts of white spilling all over himself with a loud groan and you’re left to listen out for the desperate sounds of your boyfriend miles away, lengthening his climax as he continues to pump himself. “cum all over your fingers, doll . .”

suguru coaxes in that sweet voice of his, mumbling deep into the phone only for you. “doing so, so good, aren’t ya?” the quietness on his end, the slow lazy stroking of his hand again, and you’re cumming all over your fingers, eyes blown wide from the orgasm that he talks you through while you ride it out on your mediocre fingers. your mouth is stained with endless profanities and moans mixed with geto’s name, muffled by the bedsheets you’re so harshly biting into to prevent any loud, unbecoming sounds.

“that good?” he asks with a laugh, yawning yet again and you feel guilty again—

“i’m sorry, s—”

“no. don’t, doll, don’t apologise,” suguru brushes his thumb over his thigh, partially wiping off the cum and partially hoping he can relax the furrow of your brow like he always does. “you’re frowning and your shoulders are up, probably, relax . .”

you sigh, another thing that geto values a lot and has taught to you; deep breaths and untensing all parts of your body.

“good girl, was that good?”

“the phone sex or the deep breaths?”

geto grins. god, he missed you so fucking much — “both.”

“both was very good, thank you very much,” you giggle, not paying much mind to the way you remove your fingers from your cunt, turning over to the bedside table to take some tissues, “although the sex was a little better.”

“aw, no wins for the intense, groundbreaking, spirit-calming deep breaths?”

you shake your head (you’ve got to stop doing that), “ehh . . it was alright.”

geto’s reluctant sleepiness grants you a few more minutes together, his words starting to slur more and more the longer you were on the line, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy it. with fatigue came the words laced with unhindered affection, murmuring softly about hoping to see you soon, to feel you, to kiss you, and you expressed the same sentiment back to him.

the other switches the output to speaker, wanting to take in the messily taken profile pic he set your contact with. a blurred, blinding smile with his face squished against yours; a little below the two of you, berry and cherry clutched within your palms, doing the same. “can my girl do her best for her finals?”

“i can’t promise the best, but i’ll try . . okay?”

geto hums, a soft smile on his face. he’s cleaned up by now, new sweatpants on and duvet pulled right to his neck while he stares at your face, the pixels of the nokia never diluting your beauty.

“attagirl. have a good dinner, lovergirl.”

that knocks some breath out of you, and you grin like a schoolgirl.

“have a goodnight’s sleep, loverboy.”

you bounce on your heels impatiently when the plane finally lands, waiting for the throngs of people on the flight to leave through the bridge, but it’s taking ages, speed walking once you’re out. you wanted to be the first at the luggage conveyor belt, you needed to be the first passenger of your flight to be out of the arrival doors.

without the rush of the people and the striking colours of your boyfriend’s friends’ hair colours, it wasn’t too difficult to run up to them for a big hug.

“(y/n)~!” gojo drags out your name, waving you over excitedly and bringing the both of you into a group hug. nanami is adamant on being the ever broody racer, but you catch the ghost of a smile when he wraps a careful arm around your shoulders.

“how was the flight, (y/n)?” the blonde’s firm but concerned voice cuts through the chaos of the white-haired man.

“don’t ask lame questions like thaaaat, nanami! you’ll just bore me—” and a resounding smack! is then heard, and gojo’s clutching the back of his head in pain, the other taking the opportunity to lead you away from gojo’s antics and offering to help with your luggages. without words, nanami already feels your nervousness, patting your back in solidarity.

“hey— hey! oi!”

gojo slams the door to his car. “okay, we’ve painstakingly tried to hold suguru back whenever he was about to book flights—” gojo mentions in the car on the ride there, taking way too quick turns for your liking with your luggage going to town in the trunk. its thumps against the roof and sides always seem to interrupt the conversation with the white-haired man, but he seemed too much in a hurry to care. “think it was almost eight separate times!”

“thank you— ah!” you almost lurch forward at the amber light, but gojo decided at the last minute that he was just going to run it — braking then speeding it up all over again.

“you know, for a racer, you’re a terrible civilian driver . .” you groan once you reach the mouth of the familiar car park that you frequented in your six months in japan, but now that gojo’s easily manoeuvres the car to a slow, the adrenaline of the fast drive changes into something of dread, of a dizzying feeling.

what if suguru didn’t want to see you anymore? what if he already booked himself a flight and was nowhere to be found? what if he’s cheat—

your hands are clammy, not even present to how gojo calls out from you from the driver’s seat. cautiously, he’s putting a hand on your shoulder (because god forbid gojo touched anything of suguru’s, both Mazda and girlfriend), and shaking you out of your daze.

you catch glimpses of his sentences: “all  . . talks about . . trust . . no girl has . .” but you stop his rambling with frantic slaps to his shoulder. you know you shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions but it’s hard not to when the scene is clear as day. suguru is never one to cheat — from the six months you’ve known him, from the many calls and check-ins the two of you do over the line.

defying time zones, fighting fatigue . . for this?

but you know better to list your lover as the instigator, especially from how this other girl was just hovering all over his Mazda, sticking her ass out and trailing her hand all over his finishing. that was one thing — but geto isn’t making any move to shove her off, only looking at her through hooded lids that could definitely drive anyone off. she wasn’t affected, though.

you’re not listening to gojo even when you step out of the car, already used to the curious eyes that rake over you and your figure — curiosity turns into recognition and then shock when they see how your boyfriend acts, but before you can actually make your way toward them, another man sidles up to you.

oh my god, it’s daisuke. you sigh loudly, knowing how gojo had dealt with him before and how much of an asshole he is, but all he does is look you up and down, not giving one fuck to how the subject of his embarrassment was sitting right in the driver’s seat.

“hey, babygirl.” you want to vomit from that one greeting alone, but you try not to pay him much mind. “what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ out here?”

“don’t your sorry ass have a girlfriend?” daisuke doesn’t even begin to digest the insult, and you think that he’s a masochist with how much he sets himself up for getting insulted, but then the girl’s eyes meet yours — she’s in his pictures, she’s in his wallet, you’ve seen her when this loser beside you blatantly brags about his girl. you’d feel sorry for her but it seems she’s as stupid as him.

they’re exactly that — realising you just walked yourself into one big jealousy scheme planned by the biggest jokers of the underground racing scene, your suspicions are confirmed when his eyes are also locked on his girlfriend with your boyfriend of all people, making sure she sees that he’s all up in your space. she’s doing the same, but when she actually tries to touch him is when geto finally does something, and the jealous burn in your heart quells a bit.

geto’s too smart to be mingling around with her, you hope, when you hear him mutter something to her and you smile to yourself when she cowers under his stare and words.

“you touch my fuckin’ car one more time and i’m sure to drive both you and your loser boyfriend, out of here forever. you can take your clown asses to another parking lot and race there and then i won’t have to see your faces any more,” his hold around his wrist isn’t harsh, but it is firm, and he prevents her from leaving until she gets his message, “plus i have a girl i’m obsessed with. take your lame jealous charade somewhere else and maybe go to couples’ therapy. you two clearly need it.”

and when she looks at you again — you think it’s how your identity settles in her mind — she yelps and finally runs away at the daggers you give, not even sparing a glance to daisuke who’s carefully scooching closer to you. but just as he tries to wrap his arm around your waist, your eyes catch suguru’s.

his eyes soften for just a moment; it was just like the café. his palms turn sweaty and he feels like he could collapse — but now you’re looking just a little different. he wasn’t sure if it was because of your hair or the tiredness from exams, but you’re still as stunning as the day he led you out of the parking lot.

geto cannot resist giving you a big grin, but it quickly fades when his gaze falls on daisuke beside you and a scowl appears. and while your body’s already distancing yourself from the man’s crusty ass lips, you feel a throb go right down to your core when the same annoyed glower forms across his features: eyebrows pulled taut, long strides, muscles bulging in the wifebeater he’s got on.

six months away from your man has clearly done things to you.

with one smooth swoop, geto has you pulled flush against him, not even looking as he uses his free hand to grab at daisuke’s neckline before he leans in to kiss you. it’s admittedly a little embarrassing, cause your body reacts so readily to him, tits pressed against his chest while your fingers tangle themselves in his long hair. he tastes like cigarettes and cherries like always and you moan softly into his mouth when his hands wander right down to your ass to give it a squeeze.

“satoru’s not very good at hiding secrets, unfortunately,” geto spills and you pout, surprise ruined by the loud mouth of his friend, but before he gives you his undivided attention, he tugs daisuke closer, roughly. “but that don’t mean i ain’t happy to see ya, baby.”

geto laughs at your flustered state, until his expression darkens again — “you have a lot of nerve touching my girl.”

“I—i didn’t! she was basically begging for me to touch her.”

“don’t you—”

“p-plus! my girl was all up over you too, so i thought i’d give her a little lovin’—”

geto almost smashes his jaw in. either way, he lands a clean punch to his face that has daisuke writhing on the floor, clutching his mouth in pain but that doesn’t deter daisuke one bit who sits up . . and then is immediately beaten down again with a boot to his chest. your boyfriend leans down and looks him straight in the eye.

“i’m cancelling my race just so i can make my girl scream my name loud enough for you, because you could never fuck her or anyone that good with your shit dick game,” geto scoffs, “and forget girls, you can’t even win enough races to rise up the ranks. you’ve embarrassed yourself enough, don’t you think?”

suguru doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, only ushering you toward his Mazda parked in the familiar corner, easily shooting a text to gojo to cancel the race as he mentioned just so he could . .

with windows down, you relish again in the tokyo night air, the hand that you miss so much on your thigh, the alluring voice he’s speaking to you in, the beauty of geto suguru. everything looked the same since you left, from the photos he’s put up on the dashboard, the berry keychain hanging from the rear view mirror, the outer orange coating of his car.

“i—”

“i’m sorry, my love,” suguru leaps forward to apologise, stopping the car abruptly. you’ve already reached your destination but, it seems he wants to say something first.

“why are you apologising?”

he frowns, bringing his hand to cradle your cheek. easily, you’re leaning into the touch, closing your eyes. “for ruining the surprise, for that stupid fight with daisuke, for letting my emotions take over.”

you mirror him, features also deepening in somberness. “you didn’t do anything — if anything, you were a victim of his girlfriend too. but . . seeing her be all over you, made me think the worst after not seeing you for six months.”

geto’s eyes soften yet again (he simply can’t help it around you), using both hands to hold you, now, and you float into his arms like a feather, like he’s in command. you let him guide you into the driver’s seat, faces so close and just hoping to touch after so many months apart.

“i . . i love you,” he swallows, brushing the hair from your face. you find that he’s shaking and breathing so heavily you’d think he was hyperventilating, but he gathers courage on a deep breath and continues, “i have since you left. right after, i went home to cry.”

“oh . .” your lip juts out, eyebrows downturned and eyes filling just a little, “oh, sugu . .”

“i just have always wanted to say it, i guess,” he chuckles, sniffling to hide his true emotions, “i just didn’t know whether i should say it over the phone where it would sound cheap; b-but, you don’t have to say it back, of course—”

you smile through tears, pressing a peck to his forehead in gratitude, “it wouldn’t sound like it to me, but i appreciate you waiting until i returned,” geto relishes in your lips upon his skin again, and he doesn’t think he could survive another day, another minute, another second without you, “i have, too, but i’m not sure when. it definitely includes the time you set alarms to wake me up for exams, though.”

he laughs freely at the memory now, of alarms interrupting his dinners and his parents asking “another call?”, but they let him do whatever, happy to hear their boy joking and laughing over the call with his mystery partner. you giggle, using your thumbs to wipe away the tears that did fall, letting the interior fluorescent light of the Mazda illuminate the features you love so much, all belonging to the man you pined over from many miles away.

“i love you too, suguru — stumbling into that random car park was the best thing i’ve ever done.”

“well, it might’ve not turned out as well if some other group had gotten to you first,” his thumb plays with your bottom lip and brings you to him, “’m just glad i got to ya in time . .”

“yeah? what if you didn’t at all?”

“then i would’ve made sure i’d find you in any way that i can, even if i had to beat up a thousand daisukes.”

that makes you giggle at little, a sliver of eye contact shared with your lover before he engulfs you in a rough kiss and your moan reaches the heavens, body so sensitive from being away from his touch that you jolt when he wraps an arm around your waist. 

“relax, baby,” geto chuckles, speaking against your lips, “take it slow.”

“but i don’t wanna . .” you whine softly, clinging to him in surprise when he pulls a lever next to his seat and the backrest falls all the way down.

“ah!” you grin, “new mod?”

suguru barks out in laughter, “ya caught me. i got it modified yesterday.”

“so you could do dirty things like this?”

he rolls his eyes with a blinding smile, just so, so happy he’s got you back in his arms again, “exactly that.”

the other willingly shows you just what the modification can take, both hands spread out on your ass and pulling you onto his crotch. your core already feels the half-hard bulge under him, using your hips to grind down even more along him. everything feels like too much, after so long away from him that you already feel your high approaching from simply grinding your clit against him and he teases.

“you g’nna cum, already?” he grins slyly, suddenly moving his hips to meet yours that has a broken mewl leaving your throat.

“b—been too long away from you . .” you admit a little sheepishly, using his shirt as an anchor while you continue to grind your cunt into his front, only your panties and his trousers separating the contact of skin. but with how your body jerks in pleasure, you’d think there was nothing between the both of you. “i need you, quick.”

geto says nothing but help you with small pants, the backlighting from the headlines accentuating your figure so nicely that he grunts out your name in between swears, soon stuttering your syllables once he feels you still on his lap with arched back and throbbing cunt. he can feel you, feel you squeezing around him even when he wasn’t in you.

“guess your fingers were pretty crap, h-huh?” massaging your sides, you hum in disapproval at his cheeky smirk, hoping to change that when he lets you do whatever: you pull him up by his shirt and open the door to his car, pushing at him to get out. you don’t day anything and he already knows what you want when you spread your legs, biting his lip at the wet patch on the pretty set you decided to don.

and even with witnessing this sight over and over, you’re never used to the way geto worships you, reveres you, when he kneels down on straight gravel. he doesn’t care if his pants are littered with small specks of dust and dirt, whether he knees start to hurt, but he only has his eyes set on your alluring cunt, finger delicate when he pulls your panties to the side but just brutal when his mouth meets your clit.

“su— s-shit—!” is all you can manage, hearing the other breathe through his nose once his mouth latches on your pussy. it’s something that he hasn’t tasted since long ago, and he’d be damned to let you go again, so he takes the opportunity to savour your arousal, switching between flicking and sucking on your clit like a starved man.

“she tastes so fuckin’ good hmmff—” his eyes meet yours and he feels you squeeze around nothing, making a show of letting you watch how his tongue circles your bud, down to your hole and up again, slurping up your juices sloppily. “i hope this pussy’s missed me as much as i missed her, yeah?”

“y-yeah . .” you moan out softly, legs moving apart more to get more of him, pelvis humping against his face so much that he has to hold it down with a hand. your pre is dripping all over his leather seats and onto the floor, but he makes sure not to spill any more from the way he scoops it up and prods at your entrance. 

“let your pussy do the talkin’, baby,” he mumbles drunkenly, pushing in a finger past your walls and the stretch is already so much better than your own. your jaw hangs open in ecstasy, body already bucking and craving for more when he pushes his thicker finger all the way in and it’s no problem for geto to slip the other in, “she’s sucking me in so well, can she do this to my cock too? hm?”

wordlessly, you’re nodding, catching a whisper of good girl before he’s back on your sopping pussy, sucking up and swallowing all of your arousal that it’s downright filthy, the noises echoing throughout the space. geto doesn’t waste any time pumping his digits, moving them in tandem with his tongue.

“s—suguru . .” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes open from the sheer pleasure, and you’re met with the vision that you can never get enough of — your racer boyfriend’s tongue out, hooded lids and soaked chin — and he grants you a little more of euphoria, groaning loudly into your pussy. with each minute, he’s only getting harder, unbelievably so, so your fantasy cut short when he removes his fingers and mouth with a pop! and laughs at your needy whine.

“you’ve been away too long, come,” geto stands to give you a kiss first, letting you taste yourself, “i need to be in you, darlin’.” 

and so when he first slips in, it feels like heaven on earth, his leaking tip nudging past your folds and right into your warm cunt that he whines so loudly, long hair falling all about his face and body. you’re not different, nails digging in his skin at the stretch that you’ve missed, cock so much longer and thicker than your fingers.

“t-this is better than any fleshlight, fuuckk . .” he mutters to himself, one hand holding your ankle up and the other holding your bent knee. he’s hoping the modification he made to his car wouldn’t give up on him, because he knows he won’t be able to hold back once you’ve adjusted. but when you start moving earlier than he expects, he doesn’t give you the chance, slamming right up to the hilt until you’re shivering and clenching around him.

“g—god, r-right there, sugu—” you preen, nothing but incoherent and repeated sentences mumbled by you over and over, “feels s’full . .”

“y-yeah? tha’ it?” you don’t need the shitty light of the abandoned parking lot to make you look beautiful, you’re doing it all on your own when your body arches towards him and your legs shiver in his hold, catching glimpses of just how wet you were — juices smeared along your inner thighs, a clear sheen of it along his length, all thanks to the lighting. “so sloppy, huh . . listen to ’er.”

geto emphasises his thrust, in, out, and in, out, just for you to hear your dripping pussy dragging along his shaft, one of the things of yours that makes him go insane. 

“all because of you,” you babble mindlessly, fingers expressing your need for him and he listens like he always does, body hovering over yours just to kiss you and because of that he’s thrusting all the more deeper into you as you break the kiss with a loud moan. geto laughs against your lips, hips making quick work to make sure he stays in his new angle, and he’s rewarded with your lewd pleas for him.

he’s ramming into you so perfectly, mushroom tip just barely brushing against your cervix each time that it has your mouth permanently open in pure pleasure.

“well . . you’re the only doll to get me hard and needy like this . .” he chuckles again, kissing down your neck to make sure you get blue and black into your skin, “and i fuckin’ love her for it.”

with a shaky hand you pull on his ruined ponytail, “s-say it again.”

“i love you,” suguru almost whispers, afraid of breaking the silence.

“again . .”

“i love you, sweetheart,” that makes you bend into his hold, undoubtedly.

“again, suguru—”

his hips are relentless, still moving even through his pussydrunk confessions, “i love you— i-i love you, i love you. so, goddamn, much— s-shiiit . .”

“m-me too, su . . i love you— i—” your arms trap him, circling around his neck and making sure he stays close to you and he pushes on your knees more, fat cock fucking into you in a more open mating press, knowing you’re close by how your toes curl and your stomach contracts, by how your pussy flutters around his mouth and soft needy sighs turn into wanton moans. he’s got you mapped out, memorised, all from his devotion to you.

“i know, baby, you’re close, y—yeah?”

he feels you nod, thighs starting to burn from the position but while your pussy keeps sucking him in, he’s sure to continue to slam into you, making sure all four walls of the parking lot hear the obscene sounds of his balls slapping against your ass.

“c’mon, cum with me, princess,” he murmurs, lightheaded with the tightness and warmth of your pussy. it’s a wonder he hasn’t cummed already, sneaking one hand in between your bodies to rub at your clit. your moans are rendered inaudible, only managing pathetic squeaks before you’re tipped over the edge and you’re whimpering so loudly into his car, cum dripping down and out your cunt and right to your ass.

your pussy flutters with geto’s continued thrusts, prompting him to reach his release right after with a deep groan, hips stuttering in your sensitive pussy until he’s spilling his load, white and hot. it’s just so, so goddamn much, stuffing your hole full of his cum that it has no choice to spill and dribble out when he removes his cock, the sight just so mesmerising to him.

“p—please,” your energy is far from used up, turning your body over just so you can present your ass to him. face squished into the driver’s seat, you use both hands to spread your cum-filled pussy, just asking for more and geto only smiles with a certain lilt in his voice. “need more, suguru . .”

“that’s my lovergirl.”

[r0rysreid]

tutor!spencer Reid was SOOO CUTE!!! can I please request a one shot (or blurb, whatever you feel like) of a first kiss or a confession between them? I'm a sucker for puppy love. THANK YOU YOU'RE THE BEST!

tutor!spencer reid x gn!reader

MY FIRST REQUEST!! i am MORE than happy to write this, im so so so glad you like tutor!spencer, that’s my baby. hopefully this meets your standards </3

spencer had been looking forward to this moment all week. you had invited him over to your place—not to study, but to simply hang out.

of course it wasn’t the first time he had been over, he had sat at your dining table so many times to the point he could practically draw each groove and scratch from memory.

but this was much different. it wasn’t studying, it was a genuine friendly hangout. from the moment you asked him he was over the moon, spending nearly an hour curating a good outfit to wear, adjusting his hair so it fell just right, and making sure to keep extra mints in his bag just incase.

fiddling with his bags straps he knocked on your door—three times like always, a pause between the first and second one. he rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment, before catching a glimpse of your silhouette through the window, a smile creeping onto his lips.

a few moments later the door was opening, his face lighting up at the sight of you in-front of him, raising a hand to give you a small wave. “hey, sorry if i’m a little late.”

“it’s okay, you’re right on time. come in.” you stepped aside for him, allowing him to carefully step inside. as always he bent down to untie his shoes, placing them next to yours on the small shoe rack before following you into the living room.

he hesitated for a second before carefully walking over towards the couch, fingers flexing around his bag strap before he awkwardly sat down a few feet away from you on the couch.

“you alright? you seem way more tense than usual.” your voice caught him off guard, looking over at you and smiled a little, following with a nod and a thumbs up. “i’m good—just not used to sitting anywhere besides the table.” he gestured into the dining room, before carefully setting his bag down at his feet.

to say it was awkward was an understatement. spencer felt like he had no clue what he was doing. when you moved closer after putting on a movie, when you made yourselves sandwiches, when you had offered to head to your room and play with your console—he felt so embarrassed.

he stared down at his hands as you explained the game you were teaching him, his gaze occasionally flicking up to meet yours, smiling and nodding before taking the second controller you had handed him.

your fingers had brushed against his, it was such a cliche, but he didn’t care. he was loving every second of this. every second of being close to you.

“did you get all that? any parts i need to go over again?” you asked as you messed with the controls a bit, waiting for his confirmation. “yeah, i got it all. i always do.”

in reality he was barely paying attention to the game, mostly copying what you were doing, apologizing everytime he screwed up—even though you swore it was okay since its just a game.

eventually you guys abandoned the game, resorting to go through some of your music instead, shuffling through cd’s and introducing him to new music.

spencer was listening to every word, a faint blush on his face as he stared at you. he loved listening to you, and with you constantly telling him things for the past however long he had been over, he felt like he was in heaven.

you had started picking up that he was starting to lose focus on what you were actually saying and instead was focused on you. you couldn’t help but find it cute, smiling more as you turned to him and handed him your favorite album.

“you okay with this one?” you asked, moving a bit closer to him, waiting for his respond. of course he nodded, looking up at you, the second his gaze met yours he felt like his heart was gonna explode.

there was a comforting silence between you two, your hand finding his and giving a gentle squeeze, watching the way his ears started to turn bright red.

“you’re blushing.” you teased him, letting out a laugh as he started to crumble. he let out a small shaky chuckle, looking down for a second before turning back to you, mentally battling himself about what to do next.

a few seconds passed before he hesitantly moved closer, placing a small peck on your lips before quickly pulling back and looked away. “sorry—i just really wanted to do that.” he blurted out, pressing his lips into a thin line, his hand tightening around yours.

you felt your face heating up from his action, your own gaze falling to the floor, before a smile took over your expression. “i don’t mind. i liked it.” you responded, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “i like you.”

your words caused the butterflies in spencer’s stomach to go insane, a smile matching yours painting his lips as he glanced at you as well. “i like you too. a lot.”

“you wanna listen to that album now or are we gonna sit here for the rest of the day?” you held up the cd again, earning a nod from him. you got up and put it in your player, before returning to sit next to spencer, much closer until your knees touched. your head found its place on his shoulder, hand in his again, and smiles stuck on both of your faces.

[callumsturn]

Longing

Summary: Bucky is feeling down, and you're the only one who can bring him back to himself. Warnings: smut (18+, minors don't interact), fingering. Notes: Let me know if you'd like me to write any specific scenarios or stories :) reblogs and comments are appreciated!

Major John Bucky Egan was devastated. The news of Buck not returning from his last mission spread quickly at the base camp. You saw people try to talk to him and cheer him up in their own way, but Bucky was drenched in alcohol most of the time and with huge dark bags under his eyes. You decided it was your turn to try and bring his hopes up. Couldn't hurt.

You knocked on his door, calling out his name from the outside.

Bucky lifted his head from where he sat at the table, looking up at you with slightly bleary eyes. He cleared his throat as he pulled himself together, trying to sober up in mere seconds. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice gruff. You peered inside his room.

You knew he would brush you off if you asked if he was okay. Instead, you made him believe you needed him. "Do you mind if I come in and stay with you for a little? I can't sleep."

Bucky paused for a moment, seeming just tired enough to fall for your trick. He shifted slightly in his seat, nodding slowly as he sat up. "Yeah. Yeah, come here." he pointed to his bed. "Sit with me."

"Thanks." you spoke as you closed the door behind you and sat next to him.

Bucky watched wordlessly as you sat down next to him, leaning forward and resing his elbows on his knees. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "You said you couldn't sleep?" he questioned, tilting his head slightly so he could look at you.

You nodded. "Yeah... I had coffee, more than one cup."

He chuckled lightly, running a hand through his messy hair. "Yeah, that'll do it to ya. Caffeine's a cruel mistress like that."

"Well, I wanted some. So I had it."

"And now you have to suffer the consequences." he mused along, taking a few moments to look you over. "You look tired." he pointed out, as if it wasn't obvious.

"Thanks." you chuckled.

Bucky smirked ever so slightly, rolling his eyes. "You know what I mean. You look exhausted. When was the last time you got a full night of sleep?"

You looked at him for a second before answering. "It's been a while, actually. The infirmary's been a complete chaos lately."

His expression softened, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "When's the last time you clocked off?" he asked, a hint of protective tone in his voice.

You looked at him for a while. "It's been a couple of weeks, but it's alright, we're short on staff! And it's not like I haven't done it before!"

That answer didn't seem to appease Bucky at all. His lips pressed into a firm, unamused line and he fixe you with a stern look. "Bullshit. It's not alright. You're runnin' yourself into the ground. How many hours did you work this week?" he inquried.

"I'm not exactly counting."

Bucky sighed in frustration, shaking his head. "Of course you're not." He paused for a moment, studying you. You could almost see the gears turning as he thought about what to say next. "When's the last time you ate?" he finally questioned.

"C'mon John, I'm eating alright." you insisted.

The Major shot you a doubtful look, his expression serious. "I'm being serious. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in weeks. When's the last time you ate a full meal?"

"Maybe you can eat lunch with me tomorrow."

"I'm not asking that." he said with a sigh, his voice just barely above a whisper. "I want to know when the last time you ate a full goddamn meal was. Tell me the truth."

You looked at the door. "Yesterday, I think."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of your response. "Yesterday?" he repeated. "You think?"

"Bucky, I'm alright. I'm just really tired."

His irritation grew tenfold at this, his patience at an all-time low. "You ain't alright, you're being reckless." he retorted gruffly. "Look at you, you look like a damn zombie. 'I'm just tired' my ass."

You let the room fall silent for a few seconds. "And how are you?" you finally decided to ask.

Bucky almost froze at the question. He was a mess, even he could see that for himself. For a moment, he thought about brushing off your question. Giving the standard, generic answer. But he couldn't. He knew how he was, and you deserved the truth more than anything. "Like garbage." he finally admitted, quietly after a few moments.

"I'm worried about you Bucky." you began. "You barely come by the infirmary anymore."

He lokoed down, docusing his eyes on his hands as you spoke. "I've been busy." he mumbled half heartedly, knowing damn well it was a blatant lie.

"Too busy to visit me?" you simply asked.

Bucky internally winced at that, his heart aching. "No." he said, his voice cracking slightly from guilt. "I- I just... it's hard, y'know?"

You nodded. "I get it. I can go by just fine without your visits." you tried to win him over with humor.

It seemed to work, even just slightly. He lifted his head, looking at you with a tired hino of playful sarcasmo in his eyes. "Is that so?" he questioned, a soft smile on his face.

"Oh I'm sure of it. It's been real peaceful without you pestering me at work."

He huffed, a soft chuckled escaping his lips. "That's rich, coming from you. You're always bugging me." he pointed out, shifting in his seat to get a different angle of you.

"But that you love."

"You're making that up." Bucky denied, though his smirk didn't falter. He tried so hard to ignore the flutter in his heart he got as he looked at you - his gaze almost involuntarily flicking down for a moment to your lips.

"I don't think I am." you smiled at him.

He paused, his heart giving another flutter as he saw you smile. It'd been a while since he'd seen that smile. He chuckled softly, shaling his head and running his hand through his hair. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

Your expression of surprise came quickly to your face. After a few seconds in silence you spoke again. "You're drunk." You chuckled at him.

Bucky let out another soft huff at that, but he didn't deny it. "Maybe a little." he admitted, that smirk on his face returning. "And what about it?"

"You're not making sense, that's what."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that, looking at you with an amused expression. "And what about it doesn't make sense?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "I said you drive me crase. You do."

"Bucky..." you started but he interrupted you as he got closer to you, before grabbing your hand gently.

His calloused hand wrapping around yours like it belonged there. He was quiet for a moment, looking at you with a mixture of affection and something else you couldn't quite put your finger on. He almost looked a little nervous.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

Another loaded question.

He opened his mouth to answer but stopped himself. His gaze falls from your face down to his hand holding yours. Bucky was quiet for a few more moments, his grip on your hand almost imperceptibly tighter. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, the words stuck in his throat. He took a shaky breath, lifting his gaze back up to your face. "No. " he finally said, shaking his head slightly as he did. "I'm not okay." His expression serious. "But you make it hurt a little less."

Bucky's eyes flicked back and forth, analising your features. He sighed softly, his guard completely down. "Look at me." he softly insisted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You did as he asked, first his eyes and then his lips. God, he was handsome, specially under the dim lights of his room.

"You have no idea," he said, his voice low, "how hard it was to stay away from you the past few weeks."

His hand kept around your own as he spoke. He could be so gentle if he wanted to. Bucky softly tun his thumb in small circles against the back of your hand, trying to focus on that instead of the growing urge within himself. "I missed you so damn much." he murmered, his voice just barely above a whisper.

You cut him off by closing the gap between your lips.

He let out a soft, almost involuntary sound as he returned the kiss, his free hand moving to cup your face. His hand fently tugged you closer, as if he was afraid you'd pull away.

In turn, you grabbed his uniform's shirt tight between your fingers, pulling him closer to you.

Any thoughts of restraint or resistance melted out of Bucky's brain the moment he felt you grab him. His hand moved to your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you into his lap. "God, I missed you." he mumbled against your lips.

You didn't respond, just climbed on his lap and grabbed the nape of his neck with both your hands, never breaking the kiss you two shared.

Bucky let out another soft sound as you did. His hands sliding to your hips, the feeling of your body against his nearly overwhelming. He kissed you passionately, his tongue gently running along your bottom lip as if he was pleading for more.

He broke your kiss only to kiss your neck, your head rolled back as he catched it with one of his hands.

Bucky's kisses gently yet firm, as he moved along your skin. He could hear the sound of your breath catching in yout throat, his brain nearly short-circuiting from yout little sounds of pleasure.

One of his hands found its way under your dhirt, his fingers tracing along the warm skin of your back.

His hands were rough on your back, but you didn't mind it.

Bucky's lips returned to yours, his kisses a bit more desperate now. He wanted to be closer to you, to have your body against his. One of his hands slid up your body, gently resting against your ribcage. His thumb lightly teased against the underside of your breast.

His touch sent shivers through your whole body.

He broke the kiss for a moment, his chest heaving with want. "You're so damn Beautiful." he murmured, his hand gently gripping your hip as he kept you against him.

You moaned quietly at his words, the way he was holding you down on his lap by your hips was making you dizzy.

He noticed your reaction, the soft sounds of your monas driving him wild. He used his grip on your hip to push you down to grind against him slightly, a soft smirk on his face. "You like that?" he asked, his voice gruff.

You nodded out of desperation.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, rolling his hips against you to give you a but more friction. "You can't even speak, huh?" he taunted you lightly.

"I can speak." you managed to say quietly.

"Then try sayin' something." he mumbled against the skin of your neck, continuing to push his hips against you ever so slightly.

"Your hands." you pleaded him.

You heard his groan, his grip on your hips tightening as he took in your request. "What about my hands?" he mumbled, his lips moving down from your neck to your collarbone.

You let go of his neck to grab his right hand and position it near your core.

He could feel the heat practically radiating from you, the thought alone nearly sending him over the edge. His fingers gently traced along the edge of your pants, as if he was silently asking you for permission to continue. You gave it to him.

Bucky wasted no time. He was a man of action after all.

He pushed your pants to the Side, his fingertips ghosting along your soaked core. He let out another soft moan against your skin, the feeling of you driving him crazy. "You're so wet, darling." he mumbled as he started to rub small circles, moving slowly to work you up even more.

Your reactions, the little sounds you were making, the way you were grinding against his hand - it was almost too much for him to handle. His fingers teased at your entrance, occasionally slipping inside to drive you absolutely crazy. "I could listen to you all night." he mumbled, his voice low and rough with want.

"John" you trailed off.

Bucky lifted his head from your neck to look at you, his fingers still working at you. "Yeah?" he breathed out, doing his damned bect to keep some control of himself.

"I need you."

Bucky practically groaned at the sound of your voice, the want in your tone nearly making his head spin with a primal need to bury himself inside you. "Say it again." he told you breathlessly, adding a second finger inside you.

You only managed to moan louder.

"God you sound perfect." his lips just below your car. "I need you so bad it hurts."

"Please" you whined quietly.

"You don't ever have to ask me please." his voice sincere.

He lifted his head to look at you, his breathing ragged. His fingers curling slightly on their own, making you let out another delicious sound.

"Make me come." the words come out of your tired mouth.

He moved his fingers faster, adding a third, knowing exactly what to do based on the sounds you were making. "I'll take care of you. "he assured you. "I'll take care of you, I promise."

And he did. In a matter of seconds, you were coming undone on top of his lap.

Bucky watched intently as you came, his fingers working you through it. He then gently removed his hand, bringin it to his mouth and licking his fingers clean with a low moan.

His free hand moved to gently brush the hair from your face, his thumb tracing your cheek as he looked at you with affection and desire.

You looked down at him after that. "What is it?"

Bucky chuckled, gently lifting your chin for you to look at him. "You look so damn beautiful when you're all flushed like this." he told you, a hino of pride in his voice as he added, "I did that."

"Yes you did." you chuckled quietly.

His smiled returned, his hand moving to cup your cheek ever so gently. He was quiet for a moment, just studying you as he tried to find the right words. "I've been a real idiot, sweetheart." he finally said, his voice soft. "I shoud've come by sooner..."

"Don't worry about that."

"I do worry. You've gotta stop lettin' me be a dumbass, you know that?"

"Me?" you chuckled. "I have nothing to do with that!"

Bucky's grip on you tightened, his expression still serious. "Bullshit." he insisted, shaking his head. "You have everything to do with that. You could set me straight if you wanted to, I'd listen to you in a heartbeat."

You smiled at him. "The I'll be wiser with my choices from now on."

John returned your smile with a smirk, his hand moving to rest against the side of your neck. "Damn right you will be." he told you, tugging you closer to him. "Gotta make up for lost time, sweetheart."